


How to Seduce Your Healer by Oliver Wood

by AnotherAuthor, vic_writes



Series: Bludger to the Heart [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Broken Bones, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Gay Oliver Wood, Healer Percy Weasley, M/M, Oliver is Still a Professional Player, Percy's heart is broken and Oliver is going to put it back together okay?, Romantic Comedy, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAuthor/pseuds/AnotherAuthor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vic_writes/pseuds/vic_writes
Summary: The keeper smiled wider as the healer tried to hide a smile writing quickly on the parchment tucked underneath the clipboard. And what a smile it was. Percy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. It took up the man’s entire expression. Other than winning the Pennant (if he wasn’t sacked by the Club Manager), Oliver Wood would make it his life’s mission to make Percy Weasley smile.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Penelope Clearwater/Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley & Weasley Family, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Series: Bludger to the Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747276
Comments: 136
Kudos: 230





	1. Healer's Orders

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was done in collaboration with my good friend @AnotherAuthor. 
> 
> We have a penchant for writing Perciver and wanted to share our love with all others. It will be the same story split into two works (Percy's POV and Oliver's POV). My part focuses on Oliver's perspective. There are six chapters being written for each one. Updates will come on Fridays.

Being the Keeper of Puddlemere United came with the honor of being the most reckless player on the field. It was what Puddlemere was known for. Their locker room chant after all was “Ride, Bleed, and Die United”-- their manager didn’t like that one. They went with meek “Beat Back those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck that Quaffle Here”. It hardly captured their grit.

A gruesome match ended with Potter catching the snitch with a roar from the stands. He snatched it millimeters from the Wasps’ seeker. One of the greatest matches of the season sans Oliver breaking his ankle in many pieces. Did he need to dangle off his broom and kick the quaffle away? No. But, the fans screamed over the move, shouting ‘Reaper Keeper’ and ‘Knock on Wood’.

Did he fail to see the bludger speeding toward his lower half? Well, that was his secret.

“Oi! No need tae grab it like that Diggory--”

“Wood, I’m not the suicidal keeper who decided to hang off his broom like an idiot-- no offense mate,” Cedric smirked, forcing Oliver to lie down on the Mediwizard bench. He began to poke and prod at Oliver’s leg. He shoved a potion toward the injured man. “Drink it. And shove your bravado up your arse.”

Oliver huffed swishing down the repulsive draught. “Hardly suicidal. It's a strategy. Wasps lost their fucking stinger tonight.”

“30 to 200 was impressive,” Diggory sighed, still tapping and prodding. “Were you even wearing your padding properly? I warned you. If you took off your underlayer one more time--”

Oliver groaned, “It limits my movement. It isn’t required by the League. Why the fuck would I wear it?”

“You should have been taken out of the match,” Diggory grumbled. “This is a nightmare, Wood. Honestly-- sixth injury this year? You're worse than Harry -- and he’s the seeker.”

Oliver scrunched his face, “Are ye my mother?”

“Mediwizard and mother for Puddlemere United, Coach Jones needs to stop encouraging your reckless behavior too--”

“I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. Ye hardly think I can change my habits eighteen years later,” Oliver grumbled, rubbing his face. He hissed when Diggory began to rotate his ankle. His fists curled in as he pressed them deep into the table.

“You’ll be lucky if I clear you for the next game--”

“Ye cannae do that, Diggory. It’s against Ballycastle! Oh no, ye won’t do it,” Oliver sat up immediately, sucking in his breath.

Cedric sighed, running his hand carefully over Oliver’s shin down to his foot. “It hit at just the right spot.” He waved his wand over Oliver. “I’ll run a diagnostic, but I reckon you’re going to have to go to Mungo’s.”

“What do ye mean? We pay ye tae fix us. I don’t wanna stay in London.”

“Wood, for Merlin’s sake, I am a Mediwizard not a miracle worker,” Cedric scoffed, applying extra pressure just to be an arse. Oliver grunted trying to tug his leg away, but it was useless.

Oliver collapsed on the pitch as soon as the match ended. His teammates hauled him up and carried him to their post game huddle. He was going to miss the post game pub crawl. It was hardly fair. They were going to the semi-final against the Ballycastle Bats. It took two years of training their new chasers to get here along with drafting Potter from the Arrows. Their captain was close to retiring, and Oliver needed to be ready to take up the mantle in his stead. If they won, Wood would get captain.

Cedric groaned. Oliver appreciated Diggory’s straightforward displeasure and disappointment. “I figured,” he muttered under his breath, staring at the diagnostic test.

Oliver Wood was no stranger to Quidditch Injuries. His first match as a Hogwarts student was met with a bludger to the head within the first few minutes. But, he never stopped. It was what made him so desirable. Broken ribs, swollen limbs, and cuts and bruises in between hardly hurt. He was dedicated to his job like no other, it was his pride. He was born and bred to play Quidditch.

“You’re going to Mungo’s, sorry mate. I’ll call someone--”

“Let me go on my own--”

“No, you aren’t leaving my site until you’re with a healer idiot. You’ll try to heal it yourself, and then I’ll have to deal with it. Accept your fate, let me do what I’m paid for,” Cedric smirked, beginning to wrap the leg tightly. He tugged off his gloves. “Be right back.”

“If I don’t get a good glass of Scotch, Diggory, yer dead tae me.”

So, this was how Oliver ended up in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The Puddlemere team usually used Glasgow as their base hospital -- but the Wasps played close to the nation’s capital.

St. Mungo’s was the premiere hospital for Artefact Accidents. But, it was full of stuffy rotting tossers and they all hated Quidditch injuries. It wasn’t interesting enough. If you weren’t a Mediwizard and chose to be a healer, you never touched a Quidditch player. Being bludgeoned and falling off brooms weren’t sophisticated enough. It didn’t get fancy grants and prestige.

So, why would Oliver ever subject himself to the scrutiny and arse-holishness of a St. Mungo’s healer?

“Ye weren’t being serious about what ye said earlier, were ye?” Oliver asked Cedric sitting beside him. Oliver still sat in his navy blue robes in a private waiting area. His uniform clung to his skin uncomfortably. It was an eight hour match-- hardly the longest he played, but saving over forty goals tested a keeper’s energy. The Wasps were good at intercepting and maintaining possession, but shite at placing a good shot. “I have tae play.”

“Comply, and I think you should be fine. The match isn’t for a couple weeks. You're getting older, Wood. You need to be more careful,” Diggory spoke softly now, patting his shoulder.

“Shut it, I’m thirty not dead-- don’t start sounding like the Prophet, aye?”

“Just don’t have a head injury, alright? You’ll be out for the season if you get one. Focus on recovery.”

Oliver looked up from his wrapped leg propped on the wheelchair’s extended arm. A healer in lime green robes knocked on the entryway before entering, eyes buried in the clipboard before him. He was a tall lanky fellow. A darker green tie tucked underneath with a pressed white shirt. It looked form fitting underneath the traditional uniform. What color was his waistcoat? Gold? Silver? He was nice on the eyes -- nothing like the dodgy older men from his previous visits in Scotland.

Oliver licked his bottom lip, leaning back into his chair. A soft smile settled onto his lips.

“Mr. Oliver Wood?” The bloke looked up now. Those eyes could kill a man and not in a bad way. His lips were pulled thin. His expression was smooth, not a wrinkle in sight.

Oliver looked to Cedric next to him, “Will ye leave now?”

“Fine,” Cedric sighed. “Let me talk to the healer first.”

Oliver cleared his throat, “Mr. Wood is a wee bit formal. Call me Oliver.”

The healer let the file hang by his side now. “Oliver-- I’m Healer Weasley, and you are?” the healer asked, looking toward Diggory. Oliver wondered how the healer kept such a level tone. It was low, coming from the back of the throat. The vibration made Oliver’s spine tingle, his uniform feeling a little hotter underneath. “The team's Mediwizard, yes?”

“Mediwizard Diggory, pleasure,” Cedric offered his hand.

Weasley had thin wrists and tan freckles peppering every inch of his porcelain skin. In the white light of the hospital, Oliver could see the faint blue of the man’s veins. A simple black watch adorned his other wrist. Oliver wondered what his hands felt like for a fleeting second. Were they calloused? Soft? He hadn’t seen someone so breathtaking in his life. “How may I be of service?”

“Preliminary report: bludger to the lateral side of his ankle, multiple breaks in the fibula, calcaneus--”

As Diggory’s voice droned on, the healer raised his hand to push the frames of his horn-rimmed glasses up. They reminded Oliver of his grandfather’s glasses from the sixties.

“Mr. Wood? Can you hear me?”

“What?” Oliver came out of his trance, wondering how much of the conversation he missed. “Sorry, long day.”

“Did he show signs of a concussion?” the healer asked, close enough to touch. Oliver started to hope the man’s fingers might comb through his hair.

Cedric narrowed his eyes at Oliver, “There was no indication of a concussion, but Wood has been hit in the head a few times before.”

Getting hit in the head was Oliver’s specialty.

“I have to go heal up some of our other players. Do you need anything else from me? He should be able to give his medical history that isn’t already on the record,” Cedric asked.

Oliver grinned again, focusing on the healer. Alone time. “I wasn’t knocked over my head, don’t ye worry,” he reassured, ruffling his chocolate brown curls. It was a bit greasy, and he wished he had showered. Maybe his post match musk would be enough for the bloke.

“Mm,” the healer answered, looking disinterested. He stepped forward again, scanning Oliver’s body and settling onto Oliver’s face again.

Diggory started up again, realization dawning over his face, “Actually, the quaffle during the third hour--”

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Oliver quickly interrupted the ridiculous conclusion, “A quaffle cannae cause brain damage, Diggory.” He didn’t have a smidge of a headache. His leg throbbed underneath the bandages and the pain made him tired, but he knew what a concussion felt like more than anybody.

A concussion-- now any reported suspicion of a head injury had to be reported to the Commissioner for the League. The Commissioner, an absolute tosser, started to place heavy regulations on traumatic brain injuries. It would land Oliver in automatic two week medical suspension -- with additional time added if incapable of passing the diagnostic tests. Sometimes, even if a concussion was suggested, coaches benched perfectly fine players to avoid the heavy fines on the club.

“Please continue, Mediwizard Diggory,” the healer replied.

Oliver tried to keep his groan to himself as Diggory explained how Oliver head butted a quaffle-- it wasn’t his fault that was where the bloody thing was flying! Besides, head butting wasn’t banned from the league.

As Cedric left, the healer rounded the back of Oliver’s wheelchair. Oliver crossed his arms trying to get comfortable again. He shifted and shifted noticing his arse started to fall asleep from the unforgiving wheelchair bottom. They entered a small but comfortable office. An examination table sat against the wall.

“It’s easier if you are on the examination table. Perhaps more comfortable too.”

“Of course,” Oliver grinned, looking at the expressionless healer with even more interest. Oh he was a tough one to crack, wasn’t he? “Healer Weasley, right?” he tried to soften, to see if the man might mimic his expression.

“Yes,” he replied. Weasley managed to lower the table with the wave of his wand. “Can you stand on your other foot?”

“Aye.” Oliver stood up on one foot immediately hopping over to the table. The jostling sensation hurt his other leg as the blood rushed down to the extremity. Oliver bit the insides of his cheeks. He needed a clean bill of health.

The healer’s hands rested under his armpits. They were surprisingly strong. The gorgeous bloke helped him get onto the table with a guiding hand. One rested on his upper bicep, the other on his injured thigh. “Are ye related to Fred or George Weasley?” he asked. His forehead broke out in a sweat again.

“I do not discuss my personal matters in this professional setting, Mr. Wood,” the healer answered.

“Oliver.”

“Apologies-- lay back, I’m going to elevate your leg with a suspension charm. I need to take down the rest of your medical history and ask you a few questions,” Weasley instructed, tucking his long fingers underneath Oliver’s leg. He expected it to hurt, but the way the man cradled the injury, Oliver felt nothing. “What is your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”

Thinking for a moment, Oliver shrugged. He was distracted by the man’s curly coppery hair parted just at the side. It was long enough to cover the tops of his ears. Oliver fancied the style. He messed up his hair and decided it was stylish enough-- Witch’s Weekly put him in the Top 50 hottest Wizards after all.

Oliver must have been distracted again from his present situation. The healer’s mouth was moving, and Oliver hadn’t the faintest idea of what he said. It was hard to concentrate when he had this healer.

“Mr. Wood? Are you having trouble focusing?” Weasley asked, voice steady. “I’ll run diagnostics for mild traumatic brain injury.”

Oliver tried to remember the question before. He needed to convince this healer he had preserved most of his intelligence and attention. As much as he wanted to gawk at how pretty Weasley looked, Quidditch came first. It came before successful, gorgeous, soft healers who-- did his eyes have green flecks in them? Oh right pain level. “I’m not good at estimating that sort of thing-- used to the broken bones,” he sighed. “Is it alright if I take some of my robes off?” It only got hotter the longer Oliver stared at Weasley.

“I will assist you. Please do not jostle your leg,” Weasley answered. The healer pushed the outer robe off. Oliver closed his eyes trying to will himself to push away dirty thoughts -- imagining the healer taking all of his clothes off. Honestly, Oliver hadn’t had a good shag since the season started.

Oliver resolved to pester the healer with questions again. It distracted him from the increasingly painful throbbing -- and other images. “Ye have the same colored hair as them, but don’t have their build. Did ye go tae Hogwarts?”

The healer sighed audibly, “I have already mentioned--”

“I wanted to know yer credentials. That’s allowed-- to know yer education.”

“I suppose,” Weasley pursed his lips. Oliver loved the way his mouth wrinkled at the sides. He tried to see if the healer had a badge for a first name. He tried to remember the twins and Charlie Weasley’s brothers. There were six Weasley brothers. He guaranteed this was one of them. “Do you want the next layer? I can provide you with the patient robes.” Oh now the healer was asking him to take his clothes off?

“No thank you,” Oliver chuckled, shifting a bit to get his head comfortable. His brows knitted together in pain. “Just tired. Long game. So did ye go tae Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” the healer answered, pulling up a stool beside the table. “Date of birth?”

“Err…” Oliver squinted, looking to the healer again. Merlin who allowed a healer to be this bloody fit? His face was slender. His nose sloped steeply which made it difficult for his glasses to stay in one spot for too long. Weasley continued pushing them back up.

“March 15th--” Oliver hesitated, trying to figure out how old the healer was. Hopefully within his age range. Was Diggory right? Was he getting a wee bit old? Most players lasted to their forties if they took care of their bodies. “1976.”

“Can you name the current Minister of Magic?”

Oliver answered, “What was yer house?”

“Oliver,” the healer replied, pushing his glasses up again. “That is not relevant to this examination.”

“Are ye a Slytherin?” It was a sure fire way to figure out anyone’s house. If you were a Slytherin, you agreed. If you were a Hufflepuff, you usually kindly replied ‘no’ but always confessed to being in the house. Ravenclaws never looked too bothered, but they had a disapproving stare. Gryffindors -- predictably -- always have a mild to severe disgust. Oliver’s tried and true method worked at all occasions.

A face of mild disgust appeared on the healer’s face for a split second followed by a passive frown.

“Gryffindor, knew it.”

“Mr. Wood--”

“Oliver-- Ollie actually,” Oliver winked, batting his eyes to the healer. “Ye said ye liked Quidditch? What was yer graduation year? Ye must be a Weasley brother.”

“I hardly think--”

“C’mon,” Oliver pouted, ignoring the throbbing in his growing leg. “I want tae talk about something. Never been one for healers, sorry. It’s boring if we sit in silence” Injuries weren’t ideal. Magic could heal many things, but Quidditch players still could get career ending injuries.

Not that this was a career ending injury! It was in the middle of Oliver’s worst injuries, perhaps a five or six in terms of pain. Well, a three or four for him because he could handle pain. He played through bloody kneecaps and lost teeth.

The healer stood up, letting the clipboard and quill float beside him. He didn’t reply. Oliver saw the way the healer’s spine stood ramrod straight. Whatever stick ventured its way up the man’s arse, Oliver wanted the privilege of pulling it out -- and put something else back in.

The bandages began to unravel. For the first time in a couple hours, Oliver cringed at the black and blue pattern on his ankle. It looked worse than it before. The pain started to bleed into his senses. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes and breathing through it. He wanted to cradle the injury close and put pressure on the ankle again.

“I’ll answer yer questions if ye answer mine,” Oliver offered weakly, as Weasley grazed his fingers across his skin. They were cool to the touch. It might be the nicest thing next to a good cooling charm or ice bath. “Ye must be my age.”

“Mr. Wood--”

“Ollie.”

“Ollie, as a healer, I am concerned about your well being and comfort. If you are experiencing symptoms that you are choosing to not disclose, then I cannot properly treat you,” the healer snapped, losing his steady demeanor. So, the bloke experienced other emotions then. That was a good sign.

Weasley’s voice was warm despite his cold expression. Oliver never knew something to be so calming. So why couldn’t the bloody healer talk just a bit more? “So yer a Gryffindor… like Quidditch… are the brother of Fred and George and Charlie Weasley--”

“I will confirm that much. Is that satisfactory? Will you please rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?” What a posh accent. Oliver smiled again, brushing his hair back as he got onto his elbows. Merlin’s beard, his ankle hurt. “I recommend you lay back down.”

“The current minister is Kingsley Shacklebolt-- it’s a six,” Oliver said. “What year were ye?”

“1995,” Weasley sighed, a look of absolute annoyance settling onto his face now. Oliver really got under his skin, and Oliver loved it. “I will get you a stronger pain killer.”

“I should know ye then-- I was 1994… Weasley… Weasley…” Oliver muttered, hardly paying attention to the painkiller comment. He didn't need it. He was fine. He furrowed his brows trying to place the healer among the Gryffindors from the year below him. Oh he remembered now, Weasley was a prefect.

“Mr. Wood, please let me perform my duties--”

“Aha, ye were a prefect, aye?”

“Yes,” Weasley answered. He turned, muttering a few things to the quill and pad. The healer moved away from his leg. “Follow the light,” he instructed, getting so close Oliver could smell the woody notes of a cologne. “Turn your head toward me,” he added.

Complying, Oliver turned his head to look at the man wincing at the sudden light in his eyes before adjusting. As Weasley got dangerously close, his nostrils were filled with the pine and citrus concoction. Oliver's mouth salivated at the thought of sucking on the long neck -- he quickly shook those thoughts away.

“Ollie, I need you to focus.”

“Right, sorry,” Oliver chuckled, following the light effortlessly. He didn’t have a concussion, but the longer he delayed Weasley the longer Oliver had to examine the healer’s pale eyelashes or soft pink lips. Yet, at the same time he needed to get cleared to play. It was a fine balance of ending his abstinence streak and being attentive enough to play in the semi-final. The athletic cup came in handy for Oliver’s growing hard-on.

“No dilation issues,” Weasley whispered to himself, eyebrows beginning to furrow.

Was Weasley’s curly coppery hair soft? Oliver could have reached out and touched it.

The healer must have read Oliver’s mind, fingers settling onto his scalp, “Does this hurt?” Oliver shivered under the man’s touch turning more flushed. It felt nice under his sweaty skin though he wasn’t sure how attractive it could be. The English -- well Englishman with posh accents -- fussed over sweat and dirt.

Oliver cleared his throat and shook his head. Weasley continued this a few more times before giving a satisfied ‘hmph’. “No head injury indicated likely signs of physical exertion and side effects from acute pain.”

“So are ye their brother?” Oliver wanted an answer.

“Yes,” Weasley nodded.

Before asking the next question, Oliver looked at the healer’s chest once more for a badge. It would’ve been embarrassing to ask for his name if it was plastered right in front of his face. Oliver’s attention to detail came out for Quidditch and for pretty men, but he didn’t remember Weasley being this attractive in his school days. “Forgive me, but I can’t remember yer name-- first name.”

“Percival,” the healer answered, starting to cast spells over Oliver. Oliver heard the tapping of Percy’s oxfords on the floor below them. “Mediwizard Diggory mentioned past medical injuries, can you please give me a list?”

Oliver nodded. His lower extremities situation (not the leg situation) persisted. A cold shower did the trick for these issues, but he wasn’t leaving anytime soon from what it looked like. “Two concussions, one from 1988 and the other in 1998. Broken bones, but all healed correctly. All Quidditch injuries, honest. If ye need a comprehensive list, it’ll take me an hour tae remember.”

“Your injuries here are recorded up until your last visit. Can you recall the past year’s injuries? Anything that required major medical attention that the team Mediwizard can’t fix easily,” Percy answered, glancing at the clipboard again.

“Rotator cuff tear, but it was small. Pulled hamstring, but some physical therapy fixed it right up-- nothing else worth noting. A couple knocked out teeth, all put back in their sockets--” he smiled wide to show off his straight smile. “I think it still looks okay? Doesn’t matter much tae me anyway.”

The quill wrote furiously before stopping abruptly. “Lucky for you. Quidditch injuries are my area of expertise, magical transportation injuries actually,” Percy commented, as he pressed down on parts of his leg again. “Does this hurt?”

Oliver sucked in a breath before breathing out a, “Yes.”

“Mediwizard Diggory was wise to send you here. There’s a spiral break and dislocation--”

“Speak in Quidditch player words, aye?” Oliver figured he should make some level of effort to know his injuries. He didn’t want to deal with the nightmare of growing bones. Regrowing bones took a few days, and then there was the physical therapy that went into it. Oliver couldn’t afford too many rest days at the end of a season. Diggory was going to give him the toughest time to get off the bench if this didn’t turn out well. “Do ye have to regrow anything?”

Percy looked down at his wand again. He grabbed a bit of parchment waving the diagnostic results onto a paper. He adjusted his glasses as he read over the new report. “Based on the diagnostic tests…” he drifted off, flipping over the parchment, “no.”

The healer stepped away to rest on the stool again. Oliver wondered how Percy’s longer legs could look so nice crossed like that. “Clean breaks for the most part on the foot bones and ankle bones. Your ankle is dislocated. There’s enough breaks that I have to set them individually. Do you have someone who can pick you up?”

“I cannae just take the Floo or apparate?”

“I highly discourage the use of magical transportation with freshly set bones. Also, you’ve shown quite a bit of physical exhaustion. I hardly trust you not to splinch yourself. I will be administering a pain killer--”

“Don’t bother, I don’t need the pain killer,” Oliver lied, forcing his smile again.

“There is no need for heroics, Oliver. I mandate that you have someone pick you up.”

“Ollie.”

“Ollie, I understand you are a rather prominent, well known player for your toughness and ability to rebound after injuries. However, I do not need to be impressed by your ability to handle pain--”

Oliver shook his head. He hated the way those potions muddied his thoughts. Also, the League was finicky about the use of painkillers. Merlin forbade them to inventory his potions use -- it was standard practice during the final matches. Oliver wanted to hide this blip at St. Mungo's from Diggory.

Painkillers was allowed obviously, but Oliver started to imagine the Prophet calling him a potion’s addict. “If yer an expert in injuries, I’ll be alright. I need tae leave, and my family lives in Glasgow.”

Percy started to insist again, and Oliver relented.

“Fine, yer stubborn,” Oliver sighed, rubbing his face. Potter had a flat close by with the youngest Weasley. Oliver didn’t understand the attraction to an opponent, but Potter never had his head screwed on correctly. Hopefully his team turned in by now, or he might be stuck overnight in this forsaken hellscape. Based on Percy’s wrist watch, he knew it was edging toward midnight. “Harry Potter, our team seeker, he’ll get me.”

“Harry Potter?”

“Yer sister’s boyfriend, aye,” Oliver grunted, wanting the pain to go away. His will was being worn down. “Don’t give me the painkillers.” He started to sign the paperwork handed to him for Harry to be his emergency contact. The smug bastard would get a kick out of this, Oliver was certain. But, Potter was one of the closest things to a younger brother to him ever since their Hogwarts days.

The face the healer made was a combination of anger and disbelief. Oliver tended to get those reactions from medical professionals. It was one far too familiar to Cedric Diggory’s face. “I do not recommend that course of action. This is an incredibly painful procedure.”

“It won’t hurt tomorrow, will it? I’ll live.” He laid back feeling every muscle strain in his body. He crossed his arms again, closing his eyes to shut out all sensations. He wanted to sleep.

Then surprisingly, Percy’s voice softened. “Ollie.”

_Oh that_ , that was how Oliver wanted that nickname said for the rest of his life. He still had a pout plastered onto his face as he looked Percy in the eye.

“I know the bureaucratic nightmare the League puts players through if you get inventoried for potions usage. A trained healer can administer them,” Percy pointed at himself. “I have given players them before. By having a record and my approval, you won’t be penalized. It does not affect cognitive or physical capacity past twenty four hours--”

Oliver pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. He waited a few moments before responding, relenting to the soft voice. Perhaps Percy was part veela or some kind of enchanter. “Okay.”

It took twenty minutes to set up, and Oliver watched Percy lower his leg gently. For a man so severe, Oliver couldn’t help but notice how gentle his hands were. They didn’t shake. They were steady. He swung back the painkiller given to him quickly. The effects were immediate.

Oliver watched the healer’s expression as he rested the tip of his wand on Oliver’s ankle. “One, two, three--” Percy counted, snapping the first bone back in place. Oliver flinched, biting harder on his tongue.

This happened another four times before the healer looked satisfied. It was a merciless pace. Oliver wondered if the man took pleasure in inflicting pain. Oliver wasn’t sure, but he swore he saw a smile on the man’s face.

Though, Oliver never minded a man who liked to do that sort of thing.

Percy grabbed bandages waving it around the ankle. As it wrapped quite tightly, the healer spoke, “One week rest. Ice and heat alteration. I will be giving you a minor pain killer draught along with anti-inflammatory remedies.”

“I dinnae want tae, but for ye, anything,” Oliver hummed, biting his bottom lip grinning wide to show his teeth. “Diggory gets our medical reports.” Well, Diggory got medical reports if Oliver consented to handing the file over. He thumbed through the report noticing the words start to blur together. Percy had nice penmanship.

Perhaps Oliver would hand the report to Diggory for once. If he only had to take a week off, then the Bats match would hardly be affected. Coach Jones would give him shite, but it was a sacrifice he would make.

“Well, you will be able to play after two weeks. I will recommend you phase into practice slowly. If something hits this ankle, or you overuse it, you’ll surely end up seeing me again-- you should stop by Monday, so I can check for swelling and any abnormalities. Sometimes there can be complications or breaks not detected by diagnostics.”

“Wait,” Oliver replied, shaking his head. “Nae, that won’t do.”

The healer quirked an eyebrow, his expression turning stony once more, “You cannot practice or play on that leg for some time.”

“It’s a fucking broom. I put no pressure on my leg--”

“You, based on Mediwizard Diggory’s report, kicked a quaffle and if I remember correctly, got a bludger to the ankle. Do you want permanent damage to a healing injury?” Percy began. “I do not clear you to play for two weeks.”

Oliver sat up quickly, swinging his leg over the examination table. His face turned red. “I have a semi-final match against the Bats. Ye need to clear me!” His jaw set at the healer.

Percy’s hand stuck out to stop him from getting up. “I would be going against my oath as a healer if I allowed you to get on a broom. Puddlemere has a reserve keeper, yes?” Percy reasoned.

There was no use. Oliver would simply act like he hadn’t heard the recommendation. The League didn’t require clearance to play-- clearance to play came from the team Mediwizard. Diggory trusted him… enough. “Fine,” he shrugged. “Yer ruining my career. I am supposed tae take Captain when Simmons retires. Don’t see how my team could support that decision if I can’t play in the match tae rival all matches.”

“Then I’ve ruined your career, but made sure that you can walk for the rest of your life,” Percy answered, his voice dropping dangerously. “What time would you like our appointment on Monday, Mr. Wood?”

Oliver rationalized he could play. Two weeks today would bring him to just a day before the match. He needed to practice obviously. He would sit a week out, phase back in, and be ready for the game. It was half of what the healer suggested, better than nothing.

“Do you prefer morning or afternoon? I have a department meeting after two, but besides that I have a relatively open schedule.”

“How early do ye get in?” Oliver asked. His bandaged leg had become mostly numb to pain Was it midnight now? His eyes were half lidded, regarding the healer. He wouldn’t be getting up for his morning run. Just twiddling his thumbs in bed and hoping someone will put him out of his misery.

“Eight for patient check-ups--”

“Eight it is, early riser,” Oliver nodded. “It’s a date.”

That got a chuckle.

The keeper smiled wider as the healer tried to hide a smile writing quickly on the parchment tucked underneath the clipboard. And what a smile it was. Percy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. It took up the man’s entire expression. Other than winning the Pennant (if he wasn’t sacked by the Club Manager), Oliver Wood would make it his life’s mission to make Percy Weasley smile.

The healer’s ears were the softest pink. Oliver managed to rake his eyes over Percy’s lime green robed body. He stood taller than Oliver. Percy’s slacks were clearly tailored to cup every curve on the man’s slender legs. He had the build of a chaser. Oliver always preferred chasers.

“Monday, what time again?” Oliver asked, wanting to hear Percy’s voice just for a few seconds more. The quiet deep vibrato that he wanted whispered in his ear. So he could smell the man’s neck again.

Oliver hopped to his feet. Somehow he forgot his ankle had just been bandaged and healed. That he wasn’t allowed to bear weight on it for a few days. It hardly hurt, just a dull throb that Oliver had come accustomed to.

Percy caught him when Oliver stumbled a bit on his feet. The healer was bloody strong. Oliver had to have fifty or sixty pounds on the man, but he stopped from falling. “Oliver, do not get up unassisted. That was incredibly dangerous,” Percy scolded, still holding him tightly. “I will remind you not to bear weight for a few days on your ankle. Do I make myself clear?”

Oliver got his wish for the day, to smell the cologne once more. It burned into his memory. He peeked over Percy’s shoulder to see the robes draping just so over the curve of his ass. Oliver might have to venture into wearing an athletic cup around the healer each time they saw each other. He laughed softly, hands latched onto the bony shoulders of Percy. “Sorry! I forget I’m injured sometimes. Right, no weight bearing. Yes Healer Weasley.”

“I will return with your potions and crutches,” Percy clicked his tongue, forcing Oliver back down. “Do not move. I do not like my work to be undone.”

Within his three hour, Oliver met the most perfect of a man in the entire Wizarding World, and he had never been so smitten with an absolute arse-- who was out to ruin his Quidditch career.

With his new crutches to add to his growing collection in his broom closet and a pouch of a few potions, Percy walked Oliver out to the front entry where Potter waited reading an old beaten copy of Witch’s Weekly.

Testing his crutches, he swung up on his good leg suspending himself in the air with a laugh. He hated having his feet on the ground.

“Do not ruin my work, Mr. Wood.”

“Stop staring at yerself, Potter,” Oliver yawned, sluggish from the potion. Hopefully, Harry would bring him to his flat close to the Puddlemere Pitch. “Bring me home.”

Potter lifted his head with a grin, throwing the magazine onto the table in front of him. “Hey,” he nodded to Percy before looking Oliver up and down. “My place or your’s? You look like shit, mate.”

“His place,” Oliver mumbled, his head nodding for a second. He smirked toward Percy, still clinging onto the last bit of energy he had left.

Potter settled next to Oliver, keeping a hand clutched onto the uniform. His face featured a permanent smirk now. Oliver would’ve wiped it off the younger boy, but he was distracted by Percy’s watchful gaze. He wondered what his eyes looked like without the glasses hiding them.

Potter interrupted his thoughts with a laugh, “Alright, flirt. Good to know you’ve been giving my girlfriend’s brother trouble all night, eh?”

“It would be the painkillers I gave him. They can induce hysterics,” Percy said, matter-of-factly. Did he talk like that all the time or just at work? What did his flat look like? What kind of conditioner did he use? Would he marry Oliver?

The questions continued to pop up as Potter and Percy shuffled him toward the Floo. Potter declared they would go to their Puddlemere flat. Oliver let Potter move in after the trade during the season. It was easier for training -- closer to the pitch they practiced and played home matches at.

Oliver kept staring at Percy, liking the way he walked with his hands in his pockets. “Yer the prettiest Sassenach I ever laid my eyes upon,” Oliver mumbled, furrowing his brows in concentration. His brogue got thicker as he tried to speak. He continued to say whatever came to mind that he liked about Percy: his hair, his glasses, his freckles, his eyes especially his eyes.

As Potter got him into the Floo, Oliver leaned his cheek onto the shorter man’s shoulder. “Pleasure tae meet yer acquaintance, Percival.” He winked, feeling two eyelids go down. No, no, just one eyelid. He tried again, but slumped into Potter again.

“You will be mindful to use my formal title upon our next encounter,” Percy said, tilting his chin in the air. Oliver watched the white skin of his neck glisten in the sunlight peeking through the enchanted windows. Was it ever night at St. Mungo’s? “If you experience significant pain, or start to feel confused, drowsy, please--”

“I know the drill, Healer Weasley. Tell yer brothers, Wood says hello.”

“I thought you went by, Ollie.”

“Quidditch players call me Wood, and ye call me Ollie, aye?” Oliver tried to grab the Floo powder. “I forgot to tell ye, yer one of the most bonnie lads I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he winked, tossing the powder down before he could see the man’s reaction. Next appointment, Oliver would ask the bloke out. There would be no way Percy Weasley could turn away the best keeper the league had.

At home, Potter tucked Oliver in making sure he was comfortable. "Goodnight, _Ollie_ ," Potter whispered, snickering as he left the room. Oliver lifted his hand in a two finger salute starting to slump against the pillow. Ollie didn't sound nearly as nice from Potter's mouth compared to Percy's. Oliver would have to suffer the next week to see the healer. It didn’t take long for Oliver’s body to go limp. It would be the best sleep he’s gotten in months -- and perhaps his new fancy will pop into his dreams. 


	2. Professionalism Be Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Wood--”
> 
> “Percy, would ye want to -- go for a round of drinks with me? Sometime?” Oliver rushed, trying to keep his smile. His hands were a bit clammy and they slipped on the handles of his crutches. “We can go to the Leaky Cauldron, or somewhere else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next installment! Be sure to check out Percy's POV too. If you've noticed, Percy and Oliver do have a few scenes when they aren't seeing each other. This was done in collab with @AnotherAuthor. Stay tuned for future updates (next one on Friday or earlier who knows).

Bed rest did wonders for his leg. The potions prescribed made his condition blissful. Somehow he decided to actually follow his healers orders -- the final was more important than the semi-final. Oliver met with Diggory Friday afternoon to turn in the medical report. As he handed the mostly completed folder, he had a sudden change of heart. 

“I think a few pages fell out into my bag. I’ll have to get them,” he admitted. Oliver knew better than to not listen to a healer. If he wanted to play Quidditch until he was well into his fifties, then he had to follow directions. 

Oliver attended practice to train up the two young reserve keepers. Was he gutted? Of course. But, Oliver thought about his pretty healer when he wanted to break the rules. It was a crime against humanity to hurt Percival Weasley. 

For the weekend, he sat on his couch with his ankle propped up. The potions muddled his thoughts as he tried to focus on the words of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Potter burnt eggs and bacon for the second day in a row serving it to Oliver. “Bon apple-tit?”

“I dinnae think French is yer strong suit -- Honestly Potter,” Oliver sighed, plucking the blackened bacon off his plate. What a nightmare. “Ye know to take it off the stove before it’s black, aye?”

Potter yawned, “Seen the Prophet?” He shuffled into the living room. His hand dragged through the mop of dark hair. He nibbled on his burnt English muffin. “It tastes good enough, mate.” Oliver decided to buy Potter a comb or dare say a grooming kit for his birthday -- cooking lessons too.

Oliver shrugged. “Why?” he replied, shoving the browned scrambled eggs into his mouth. He gagged momentarily before forcing it down with his water.

Potter yawned again -- Oliver rolled his eyes. “Stop yawning, will ye?”

“I read it. Dad mentioned he was going to be in it,” Potter shrugged, stretching his legs. “Nice to be on a winning team, eh? Though, it called for your retirement, _old man_.” 

“Yer father’s always in the papers… Again?” Oliver sighed. He reached for the Prophet on the table in front of him. He flipped to the sports section glancing over the article. There were a dozen players well into their forties playing Quidditch. Why did Oliver matter?

Plastered on the page was Oliver struggling under the grip of Diggory and Simmons, laughing his arse off. Shock did wonders for the body. 

His eyes narrowed and his jaw set as he continued. 

_Wood, recently turned 30, may soon retire from the game along with Captain Simmons, now 31, after the final. Though only time can tell as the keeper’s most recent injury has benched him from practice for the next two weeks according to an anonymous source. Without Wood in the semi-final, the Ballycastle Bats may finally have the sweeping victory to the pennant final._

“Who said I wasn’t practicing for two weeks? How did the Prophet get that?” Oliver growled, falling back onto the couch.

“I was a fan of your photo,” Harry offered, giving a sympathetic smile. 

Oliver nodded, tossing the paper toward Potter. “Frame this one of the fridge, will ye?”

“Think it was Creevey?” Potter laughed. “Ginny says he always gets nice shots of my arse--” Potter stood grabbing the paper. “Should I put it right next to the one where the bludger hits me in the chest?” 

Oliver started to smile again, “Aye, or the one where I broke my broom and face planted onto the pitch--”

“No, _better_ , the photo where I free falled onto the pitch and broke my back!” Potter declared, pasting the black and white moving picture onto their fridge. “You need anything? I’m gonna go to Tesco’s.”

“Usual,” Oliver yawned. It was the perfect day to take a nap, on _bed rest_. “Yer in yer pyjamas--”

“And?”

Before leaving, Potter stopped despite holding the door wide open. Oliver opened his mouth to make him shut the damn thing. He hated when Harry let their neighbors peek in if they wished. The Englishman always forgot to shut damned doors -- especially the bathroom. “Should we talk about your new love interest?” 

“Who?” 

“That you called him -- and I quote -- _one of the_ _most bonnie lads you’ve_ \--”

Oliver chucked a pillow at Harry’s head. “Shut up, Potter! I don’t need ye to be snooping into my business,” he shouted. 

“Wait, no, this was my favorite bit--” Potter started, laughing as he spoke, “My place or yours-- _his place_.”

“Bugger off!”

Potter finally shut the flat’s door. Oliver sighed, rubbing his face in his hands as he rested the back of his head on the arm of the couch. If the team found out he flirted with his healer, there would be no mercy. 

“Where’s my playbook?” Oliver grunted, crutching around until he found it on the kitchen counter. “Potter,” he sighed. Would the seeker ever put Oliver’s playbook back where he found it?

A few new plays were under development. Puddlemere played the Bats in an earlier game, so the opponent knew some of their maneuvers already. It was one of Puddlemere’s worst matches of the season. There was something to prove. Oliver saw the Prophet poll on which club was destined to win -- he hated that the Bats had five percent more votes. Though part of that percentage factored in Oliver’s likely absence from the game. 

Resting gave ample opportunity to study and strategize. If it was a game of defense, then Oliver couldn’t slip up. He needed to get the reserve team up to snuff. They needed to make them reflexes.

Marcus Flint was one of the chasers on the Bats. His _rival_ . There was no denying Oliver had something to prove. The Prophet called for his retirement for Merlin’s sake! Flint wasn’t getting Oliver’s pennant title. Oliver _needed_ to play, and he couldn’t. 

Merlin, he fucking hated Flint. 

On Saturday, the youngest Weasley came over. Oliver never had the pleasure to play with Ginny at Hogwarts. Alicia, Katie, and Angelina occupied the chaser positions until he graduated. But, she was one of the best chasers in the league. He admitted to watching the Harpies’ matches for chaser strategy. 

What? It was important to know the enemy.

Ginny sat on the living room floor, lip tucked between her teeth. Potter forced her into a game of Wizard’s chess, and Oliver needed the younger man to be distracted. Every time Oliver took his disorienting pain potions, Harry relentlessly found a way to mock him. 

Oliver tried to continue his reading from yesterday. As he read, intrusive thoughts about his healer started all over again. 

It became _very_ difficult to read about the 1978 Quidditch World Cup cheating scandal where New Zealand and Australia both tampered with the game balls. Oliver still couldn’t see how either team got access when the Quidditch World Cup Official Game Balls were under high security. It was a shame because both countries were suspended and taken out of the running for -- _Percy’s eyes were rather nice weren’t they_? 

When he looked up again, he couldn’t help but notice Ginny’s hair was the same color as Percy’s. “Ginny? You have the same color hair as your brother,” he smiled. 

“My brother?” 

“Percival,” Oliver mumbled, his cheeks getting a little red. He knew it was a good time to take a nap. But, Ginny would be able to fill in so many gaps on the mysterious seventh Weasley. 

Ginny started to laugh, “Percival? Oh Merlin, _no_. Of course he’d tell you his full name -- prat.” She put Potter into checkmate. “Harry mentioned you two saw each other. For your leg, yes?”

“Hands of an angel,” Oliver chuckled, slumping into the couch entirely. His reading lied on his chest. “He’s very good at his job.”

“Oh he must be brilliant if you were ready to shag him after one meeting--” Potter started. 

“Potter, have some manners,” Oliver scrunched his nose. It was not a great position to be in where he was being teased in front of his new love interest’s sister -- love interest? His cheeks started to heat up.

Ginny grinned. “Don’t worry, Wood. Your secret’s safe with me--”

“There is no secret--” Oliver interrupted. Well, he’s never been to the twins’ parties. I’ve met all seven now.”

A snort replied. “Percy works like a million hours a week. If you thought the average Weasley was a workaholic, then you haven’t seen Percy in full action.”

The dedication showed from Oliver’s brief encounter. He remembered Percy’s furrowed brows, his pink lips focused on healing. It was something to behold. Oliver loved a man who worked hard.

“Bloke like that has no time for a relationship,” Potter piped in, shuffling a deck of Exploding Snap. “Sorry Wood--”

Ginny bounced at the comment, “ _OH_. So it is a thing? You fancy him--”

“Maybe,” Oliver answered. “He’s a very… handsome lad.”

“He totally fancies him,” Potter interpreted. He gave Oliver a shite eating grin. “Look at him! Wood in _love_ . I’ve never seen him love something more than Quidditch. I asked when I picked him up whose place he wanted to go to -- looked at Percy and said _his_. I can only imagine what he said before I was there.”

Ginny perked up even more, smiling to the keeper. “He’s not seeing anyone right now. You should give it a shot. I think he needs the distraction, and you’re fit, Wood. Are you going to see him soon?”

“Let’s not mention this to anyone else, aye? Forget I said anything -- best to focus on my recovery and getting to the finals--”

“Don’t use Quidditch as an excuse,” Potter pouted. “He always uses Quidditch. His first love -- Oliver open your eyes -- you called him a ‘bonnie lad’. Are you still hung up over that Skeeter article about being too old?”

“You’re Percy’s age! He’s only twenty-nine… you’re thirty right, Wood?” Ginny offered. “You’re hardly old. Skeeter said I was secretly the seventh Weasley boy and that my parents faked my birth certificate--”

“That one was _excellent journalism_ ,” Potter cackled. 

“Aye, I know it isn’t true. Simmons is so close in age to me--”

“No, let’s talk about _Percy_ ,” Potter pouted, batting his eyes at Oliver. “Ginny could set the two of you up. Imagine that.”

“Does he play Quidditch?” Oliver asked, hoping to redirect the conversation. He didn’t want Ginny asking Percy to go out with him. Oliver knew how to ask someone out -- even if he hadn’t dated in well over a year. “Yer brothers always talked about yer family matches.”

“He’s a decent chaser -- we tried to convince him to try out at Hogwarts, but he wanted to become a first class prat,” Ginny grinned, clearly showing no malice to her brother. “Well, I’m the best chaser, but he could have played. Missed opportunity.”

Oliver wondered what Percy looked like in one of the tight training uniforms that Ginny wore around the flat. “He’s got the build for a chaser--”

“Look at you, already appraising him,” Potter teased. “Oh the wedding -- can I be the godfather to your first child? Knowing you, you’ll be married in two years.”

“Hey, give it a shot, Wood. Percy needs someone like you around,” Ginny spoke up, resting her chin on Potter’s shoulder. “Do you get to see him anytime soon? I can try to set something up? Harry’s right. It could be a great match.”

Oliver shook his head. “Nae, thank ye. I’ll be alright.”

When Oliver was alone with Potter, he punched the smug bastard as hard as he could. That’ll bruise. Potter rubbed his arm, huffing he would make dinner. Ginny left claiming she had brunch with her brother in the morning. To Oliver’s disappointment, she didn’t specify _which_ brother. He said to pass along his greetings regardless. 

As much as she tried to change Oliver’s mind on asking Percy out, Oliver stayed firm. Oliver made her promise not to say anything incriminating. His pain killers wore off enough that he realized it would be a _terrible_ idea. Ginny only gave a vague affirmation -- Oliver saw the twinkle in her eye. The same look the twins got when they were lying. 

Yet, why did asking Percy out seem like such a good idea? Oliver saw Monday as an opportunity. Maybe he would ask the healer out for a drink. There was no harm in asking a bloke out for a pint. 

Come Monday, Oliver woke up an hour before his appointment. Due to Potter’s incapability of completing household tasks -- laundry for example -- forced Oliver to put on a dress shirt missing the top button and slacks that fit his arse once upon a time (now they hugged him a bit too tight). Oliver sighed. It was warm today. No harm in having a little chest hair peeking out. 

Arriving fifteen minutes before the morning appointment, Oliver ran through the various outcomes of flirting and asking Percy out. Oliver had to admit… he looked quite shaggable in the mirror. Perhaps at some point during this “check-up”, his shirt or dare say his pants might come off. Then the healer could get close enough...

No, _no_. Weasley hardly seemed like the fellow to snog a patient on an examination table. But, it was the sexiest thing Oliver imagined in his entire life -- he could finally take that bloody cloak off of the man. 

Oliver flipped through a Quidditch catalogue in the waiting room. His dad mentioned a new Nimbus would be popping on the market soon. 

“Mr. Wood.”

Oliver tossed the catalogue aside bringing his gaze up to see a woman… not Percy. He tried to smile toward the new healer, “Hello, Healer…?”

“Healer Matthews!” the woman smiled.

Right. So much for asking Percy out for drinks. The entire appointment was pretty routine… unfortunately. Oliver answered questions, tried his best to button up his shirt so that the woman wasn’t a dark rouge. By the end, he even offered to sign something for the healer. She was very talkative about their last match. She _loved_ Puddlemere.

Oliver smiled through it all. He couldn’t tell if the healer was flirting, but he was gay so it didn’t matter. That stood as public knowledge.

As he headed toward the lobby, he stopped in his tracks seeing a familiar healer catch his eye. 

“Percy -- Healer Weasley!” Oliver beamed, launching himself into the healer’s direction on his crutches. “Did ye have a pleasant weekend?”

The healer hesitated. Oliver quirked up an eyebrow. Did he hear him? Oliver moved forward to get further down the corridor to Percy’s side. Then the whiff of cologne hit his nose. Now was his chance. 

The healer turned now, offering a polite smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Wood.” Percy nodded. “Are you adjusting to your crutches well?”

“They’re great actually. Put a cushioning charm underneath,” Oliver smiled. He wondered if it was appropriate to unbutton his shirt now. The top button had to suffice. 

Now closer to Percy, Oliver had to tilt his head just so to keep eye contact. All the Weasleys were freakishly tall -- well Percy was hardly freakish, but his height was above average. “Yer not as tall when I’m out of the seat.”

“I’m glad you’re healing well -- I must be off --”

“Oh wait!” Oliver said hurriedly. “Why weren’t you my healer this morning? I missed having yer company.”

“Ah well, I had to address a budget meeting. Were you satisfied with Healer Matthews’ performance?” Percy asked, raising a manicured eyebrow. Those damned eyes raked over his frame and settled on his leg. His cheeks flushed at the gesture.

Oliver shook his head, “Nae, Healer Matthews was very kind. I didn’t mind her at all. I wanted to catch ye before I left.” 

Percy’s eyes turned back up to meet Oliver’s. The healer smiled again. 

Oliver’s heart fluttered, and he nearly lost his balance. There was that smile. His heart started to beat just a little too fast. Oliver could rip the bandage off and ask him out. No one else would get the privilege of seeing Percy smile. 

“Err… Percy?”

“Mm?” Percy vocalized, arms crossed over a clipboard. His eyebrows rose as he peered over the top of his sliding glasses.

“Are ye going to… Fred and George’s what d’ya callit -- their Summer Palooza?” Oliver asked. “Wondering when I can learn more about the mythical seventh Weasley.” He shifted from the ball of his foot to the heel, teetering back and forth. 

“Ah, likely not,” Percy answered. He pushed his glasses up. “Those events do get out of hand -- when they send two guests into our A&E, it’s best to have deniability.”

And the man had a sense of humor! Where did you find a package like this: educated, driven, attractive, and funny? Oliver laughed loudly. 

“Mr. Wood--”

“Percy, would ye want to -- go for a round of drinks with me? Sometime?” Oliver rushed, trying to keep his smile. His hands were a bit clammy and they slipped on the handles of his crutches. “We can go to the Leaky Cauldron, or somewhere else.”

The look on the healer’s face could be comical. Oliver saw the slightly ajar mouth and wide eyes before Percy corrected it to a neutral expression again. “Oliver, I should remind you that as a Healer, I keep my personal life separate from my professional one. It would be inappropriate for me to purposely meet with you outside of a formal setting,” he sighed. 

Oliver followed the rules of course. He knew it wasn’t appropriate. In his defense, this bloke was only months younger than him and they went to school together. Oliver knew his six other siblings _quite well_. No one would bat an eye in their direction. 

“Yer not even my Healer, ye said so yerself,” Oliver reasoned. “Let me take ye out for drinks. Loosen ye up a little,” he lowered his voice, turning just the corners of his lips up. 

“I’m afraid I’m rather busy, Ollie,” Percy frowned. His face was close to all red now. Oliver found it terribly endearing. “And I’d request that you cease this… line of questioning. I’m sorry, but my answer remains no. I really must go. There’s a patient waiting for me who needs a consultation.”

He shrugged, ignoring the sinking disappointment and rejection in his stomach. “Aye… can’t blame a bloke for asking -- I hope to see ye around. Have a good week,” he forced a smile. 

“You too, Oliver. I am hoping for your fast recovery. If you are having any difficulties, do not hesitate to contact our help desk, yes?” Percy gave a polite nod, pivoting on his feet and walking away. 

Oliver watched the healer walk away. So much for that. Perhaps he might need Ginny’s assistance after all. For now, he needed to go help the reserve seekers at practice, and forget about his love life and career in shambles. 

***

After Oliver’s attempt at strategizing with the keepers, he felt comfortable letting them take over. They picked up the plays, they were prepared to watch whatever film necessary to beat the Bat’s chasers. Oliver knew they were capable, and… young -- younger than he was. 

_Are you really getting worked up over a Prophet article?_ Oliver rubbed his face, as Diggory gave him a good hour of stretching and massaging. He soaked at home before relaxing on his bed and passing out for the night.

Tuesday to Thursday ended up producing the same results. Oliver only went through drills with the keepers and let Diggory massage and stretch his leg. Recovery did wonders for Oliver’s body. He even was able to wean down how often he took the pain relieving draughts. 

The Prophet released yet another stinging article toward Puddlemere for failing to put Wood as their starter. That wasn’t leaked. The club submitted the match roster a week beforehand. Oliver read through it feeling his temper flare when his grey hairs were described for four sentences. His father greyed at a young age! That didn’t mean Oliver was going to _die_. 

Potter quoted it as they ate dinner. “Oliver Wood has already shown greys -- is he faking his age? He looks closer to forty--”

“Yer lucky yer godfather is the Head Auror, or else I’d put ye in a coma,” Oliver grumbled, shoving his grilled chicken breast into his mouth. He cast a silencio charm when Potter started to tease him about Percy Weasley. 

Oliver was still recovering from the rejection earlier this week, and he didn’t need the reminder. 

Puddlemere’s starting line practiced for three hours, and Oliver wrote notes down on the saves Barry made. Her right side was weak, but she made a fine keeper. Then she landed on the ground and sneezed sparks. 

The whole team went into a frenzy as Barry was forced to go to St. Mungo’s for the dragon pox. Diggory checked them all over, and everyone cleared. At an emergency team meeting, a complete rework on the semi-final strategy began. 

“McCarthy, I’m not sure you’re ready,” Coach Jones spoke to the second string keeper. What were the other options then? 

“Coach, whatever you need, but... I'm not sure either,” McCarthy answered, hanging his head. He was only nineteen. Oliver was a reserve player until he turned twenty two, so he understood where McCarthy came from. 

However, Barry had the pox, and she wouldn’t recover by Saturday’s game. 

Coach nodded, waving the keeper off. “Wood.”

“Aye?”

“I need you to play. You said you’re allowed to come back on Friday. Can you start a day early?” Jones sighed. “It’s a good thing none of us caught that. I could only imagine -- we would’ve forfeited.” 

Oliver hesitated. Percy told him to phase back into practice slowly. Oliver planned to do half practices next week at the most. Now, his team needed him. McCarthy would crumble under the pressure. But Oliver wasn’t even sure he could face the Bats in his condition. Yet he said the exact opposite of what he wanted to say, “Alright, Coach. I’ll play.”

“That’s a lad,” Jones nodded, patting Oliver roughly on the back. “We’ll take it an hour at a time tomorrow. If it’s too much, we’ll have to go with McCarthy. No other option.”

That day Oliver ceased his use of the pain relieving potions. He continued using the crutches to keep weight off his leg. Flying… well he didn’t have to walk.

“It’s not what Healer Weasley suggested,” Diggory sighed, massaging Oliver’s calf. “But, not much of a choice when the next best thing has bloody pox. Are you sure about this?” 

“We didn’t have the foresight that Barry would get a disease,” Oliver answered. “I won’t condition on the field. Coach agreed to only doing broom work.”

Slipping the compression sock followed by his boot, Oliver worked his arse off in Thursday practice. The posh accent, of a certain someone, entered his head when his ankle started to throb by the third hour of playing. _Why aren’t you resting?_

Then like a bad omen, a reserve chaser, Diana Cooper, took a bludger to the face on Friday. Diggory was dragging her off the field, trying to put her back together again. Coach Jones threw in the towel for the day, “Practice on your own. Only beaters use bludgers, _please_. If you don’t get your heads out of your arses, we’re going to lose tomorrow. Go over the playbook.” 

Naturally, Oliver practiced the usual allotment as Simmons laid quaffle after quaffle at him. His left saves were dicey, but he improved each time. When you played Quidditch for over two decades, natural instincts and reflexes didn’t simply disappear. 

What was going to happen? Oliver tried to distract the game day nerves away by reading every Quidditch book he owned that night. That hardly worked. Should he obsess over Quidditch right now? What if they underestimated Flint again? The pressure sat on Oliver’s chest weighing heavier with each passing moment. What if he got badly hurt during the game? Oliver had no choice but to stay in. 

“Don’t think about it,” Oliver whispered to the ceiling.

So, Oliver thought about Percy. He never understood his reasoning or how he drifted back to the lean, tall Weasley. If he closed his eyes, the cooling charm felt like Percy’s hands. After the match, no matter what happened, Oliver decided to try and ask the man again. Oliver never backed down from a challenge.

***

“Alright, knock on Wood,” Simmons cheered, as the seven players huddled in the locker room. They clapped Oliver’s back as the keeper settled into his game day routine. His broom polished, his uniform washed and pressed, his pads strapped tight, and his ankle, somehow functional. “Alright on three-- one, two, three--”

“Ride, Bleed, and Die United!” the team roared.

As Puddlemere made their entrance, Oliver looped around the goal posts exactly how he did every game. He flipped and turned. He worked on his reaches before doing a few laps around the pitch. The crowd was thunderous, and Oliver stopped at the middle goal. He looked around once more, rolling his shoulders back and tapping his helmet. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flint fly by. 

Fucker.

The players collected into the starting position. Oliver’s heart beat roaring in his ears. It was the beginning of one of the most brutal games of Oliver Wood’s professional career.

The first three hours went by quickly. The snitch hadn’t been seen since the first hour, and the teams were on equal playing field at a nearly even 50 to 60 points in favor of the Bats. Oliver saved twice as many goals as the Bats’ keeper to no surprise. Despite his two weeks off, he got the rhythm back to the delight of his teammates. Oliver won five semi-finals before, and three pennants -- he knew how to win. 

Then by hour seven, the Bats pulled away with enough points to win without the snitch. No one knew how it happened, and half those points were scored in a time frame of thirty minutes. Oliver tried to keep alert. He wasn’t even doing badly, but when all three chasers managed to make it to his end of the pitch… he couldn’t keep up. Nobody could.

Potter resigned himself to blocking the other seeker when they spotted the snitch -- which had been twice since the point advantage. 

So much for an easy game. 

Every two hours, the teams were given a five minute break. Oliver guzzled water down as he dumped the rest on his hair trying to cool down. With a new strategy in place, Oliver enjoyed the last two minutes of his break sitting on the bench with his leg propped up. The beaters would focus all of their energy on knocking out one of the opponent’s chasers.

“Your leg alright?” Diggory asked, making the rounds on players. He healed the minor injuries, and forced others to hydrate. 

Oliver grunted, “Aye.”

“Would you tell me if it wasn’t?” 

“Nae,” Oliver smirked. “It’s working well enough. Yer going to need to give me a good work up after this --” he chuckled, getting up as the one minute warning came. He patted Potter roughly on the back leaning in close, “What I would pay for to see Flint out of the game.” 

Potter smirked, “I’m not a beater, Wood.”

“Well, if ye figure out a way -- let me know,” Oliver joked, mounting his broom. 

Hour ten came with many surprises including Puddlemere knocking out one the starting chasers for the Bats. It took the chaser nearly twenty minutes to get back into the game. Oliver felt relief from the tirade of shots thrown at him earlier in the game. 

However, with less distraction, he noticed his leg developed its own heartbeat. It was uncomfortable. He fiddled with his shoelaces under the shin pad to loosen the pressure. 

Flint came speeding toward the posts. Oliver got into position waiting for the chaser to make his shot. Rather than do that, Flint rammed into him (clearly fouling). “FLINT!” Oliver managed, the momentum enough to push him off his broom. When he braced to land, his ankle and leg twisted and gave out underneath him. 

The referee called a penalty shot in favor of Puddlemere. It finally put the club above the Bats 430 to 410. 

Oliver laid in the sand for a minute, wondering if the loss of feeling in his leg was a good or bad thing. His vision black as he tried to get a visual of the pitch. _Get up. Get up_. The softest image began to form. Not dead yet. He struggled up, jumping on his good foot to his discarded broom. Every step produced another set of stars in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, Oliver struggled to get onto his broom. His head spun at the dizzying injury. 

“POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH!”

Oh thank Merlin. 

Oliver broke out into a wide smile. He practically collapsed onto the pitch all over as the team gathered at the center of the field. He partially remained on his broom to avoid putting weight on his ankle. The beaters, Sheen and Lewis, hoisted Potter above their heads as Simmons screamed his head off. 

In that one minute, Oliver forgot himself looking at Flint during the handshake with childish glee. 

“Next time,” Flint spat.

“Aye, and ye will still lose,” Oliver growled. 

With the rivalry out of the way, the final would be in four weeks, the opponent decided in a match next week. Oliver pegged the Tornadoes, but it might be too early to tell. 

“Tell the Prophet to shove it up their arse!” Potter boasted, reenacting his snitch catch. 

His teammates commented on his stellar performance. The keeper managed another weak smile. He wanted to celebrate, but he figured he was due for a long rest that could last three days. He did his duty, and now he needed to get ready for the final. He decided his leg resembled a tree stump in the loud celebratory locker room.

Then, Diggory made post game rounds. “Potter,” the Mediwizard beckoned. After another few minutes, Oliver heard his name. “Wood, come to the office-- What’s wrong with your leg, mate?” Diggory groaned, bending down to Oliver’s side. “Lay on the bench -- should’ve known this would happen to you.”

“Swollen wee bit, that’s all,” Oliver tried to smile, his head slumping to the wooden bench’s surface. “When I fell, I twisted it.”

The boot wouldn’t budge, and Oliver sucked in all of the oxygen his lungs permitted him. He held his breath each time Diggory gave the _smallest_ tug to remove it. 

“I’ll vanish it--” Diggory offered.

“Nae, tug it off!” Oliver insisted, bracing himself. 

“Sheen, Lewis, help me--” Diggory called over the team’s beaters. 

As soon as they tugged the boot off, Oliver gave a soft gasp before his vision went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and we hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated. We love writing this, so we are glad we can share with you all. Any questions or predictions shoot below.


	3. What a Vivid Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oliver, we should get drinks sometime,” Percy nodded, finally pulling his hand away. Shit, Oliver should have savored it a bit longer while it was there. And wait, did Percy ask--
> 
> “Aye, I’d like that,” Oliver grinned, the words spilling out of his mouth. Getting captain, getting a date with Percy Weasley -- all things were coming up for Oliver Wood tonight. And Percy had asked him, this was spectacular. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are BACK! Please enjoy our next edition of our little fic. Once again check out the next work in the series for additional scenes and Percy's POV. We love your kudos, comments, bookmarks -- cannot wait to share more next week. Stay tuned.

His shirt lifted to expose his toned stomach, cracking a smile. “Take it off then…” Oliver hummed, raising his arms above his head. 

Cold hands pressed against his chest. Warm lips met his. Oliver smiled under the kiss greeting it with equal fervor. Their hands ran through the other’s hair. They pulled away as Oliver fiddled with the button up on the other. Pale, near porcelain skin underneath peeked from underneath -- covered in equally perfect coppery chest hairs. His hand ran down the man’s rib cage, admiring the notches as he trailed.

“Ollie…” Percy whispered, lips quirking the slightest bit. His eyes narrowed, wiggling his butt in Oliver’s lap. Oliver winked, running his hands down Percy’s neck, collarbones, and shoulders as he tugged the shirt off him. So, the freckles did cover his entire body. 

When their lips met again, Oliver locked his hands on Percy’s hips. “Mm, Perce?” Oliver replied, batting his eyelashes up at the blue eyed man.

“Lay back--”

Oliver closed his eyes. This might have been the best dream he ever had, Percy’s lips trailing down his tanned body settling just above the waistband. Oliver laughed when Percy nuzzled his skin with the tip of his nose. His cheeks flushed with color. He threw his head back smiling wide. He tried to help Percy kick off his pants, but one of his legs wouldn’t move.

As he struggled to shrug it off, Percy disappeared altogether. Oliver wondered why the dream had to change so suddenly. He hated that. When a dream just got good, and it was taken from you.

“Mr. Wood -- Can you hear me?”

Oliver opened his eyes again, expecting the gorgeous healer to be teasing him. Percy undid every bit of Oliver’s composure. But, his head no longer felt warm and fuzzy. He blinked at Percy for a minute trying to understand how he got his clothes on. It hurt to move too much, and he couldn’t piece together many words. His mouth moved, but only a soft sound replied.

“Do you know where you are?” 

His throat and mouth felt like cotton balls had been stuffed in. He kept his gaze on Percy. The healer started to become a clearer image noticing the same glasses and freckles.

Oliver sat up with the healer’s help, furrowing his brows until he managed in a raspy voice, “You’re frowning?” Percy was supposed to be shirtless and smiling up at him. Oliver hated the lime green robes that covered up his new favorite parts of Percy. 

“Percy?” Oliver frowned, gnawing on the corner of his lip. Percy had funny looking clothes on rather than the button up Oliver undid only moments before. They were a soft grey material and offered absolutely no shape to the man.

“Yes, Healer Weasley,” Percy nodded. “Do you--”

Where was he? Oliver looked over the man’s shoulder to see light blue walls and ugly stock portraits. If Percy was dressed in actual healer robes… “I’m at St. Mungo’s,” Oliver giggled, falling back against the pillow. When he tried to move again, his leg stopped in place. “My leg’s stuck--” he murmured, turning away to see his bare calf exposed. 

Percy spoke again, gaining Oliver’s attention, “Mr. Wood--”

“That’s my da… Ollie,” Oliver replied, wishing the crackling in his words stopped. Percy kept talking, but Oliver was too tired to listen. He reached for the lime green robes to tug on them, almost hoping he would be teleported back to his dream. If he closed his eyes, Percy almost sounded the same -- though he lacked the flushed expression and bright smile.

When a bright light waved in front of his eyes, Oliver blinked and was caught off guard. “Ollie, could you follow this light?” It moved side to side, and Oliver tried to listen. But, Oliver thought of how much it stung to stare at the end of Percy’s wand. 

“Yer… yer not as fun ‘ere… dream please,” Oliver mumbled. He squinted at the light. “So slow…”

“I’m sure you’re quite tired,” Percy replied, finally lowering his wand. Oliver blinked, noticing the dots moving across his vision in dizzying fashion. “Do you feel confused?”

“Yer the one who makes me feel confused,” Oliver grinned, lowering his voice. “ _ Percy Weasley _ . 

‘Ello.”

The healer failed to be seduced by Oliver’s change in tone. But this dream was nice too. Percy smelled good and looked immaculate with his neatly combed hair and gentle touch. Oliver leaned into the touch, cuddling into Percy’s arm. His eyes closed letting the smile remain. His head felt a little better with the softness of Percy’s robes tickling his cheek. 

Percy shook him off gently, resting Oliver’s arm back onto the bed. “Come on, now, I need you to take your Skele-Gro--”

That couldn’t be right. Oliver decided even if Percy was in this dream, he wanted to wake up. Oliver hated Skele-Gro. The taste was disgusting and Oliver lost a fair bit of his control with the potion. 

“Skele-Gro?” Oliver shook his head, pulling himself away from Percy. “No, I don’t like Skele-Gro, it  _ hurts _ . No, very bad.” He tried to pinch his forearm, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“You injured your ankle again, I need to regrow your bones--”

Oliver’s eyes widened. Wait, Oliver made himself think a little harder. The image of plummeting off his broom came to mind, then the locker room followed where Oliver laid limply on the bench. “The match,” he whispered. Where was his uniform? Who even brought him here? 

“That’s correct, you were injured in the game yesterday. It’s Sunday morning, do you remember--”

“Did we win?” 

“Yes, Puddlemere United won the semi-final,” Percy confirmed. 

Oliver started laughing, and leapt forward to wrap his arms around Percy’s waist. This was the best news that Oliver had ever heard, they’d  _ won _ . He tightened his grip and buried his face into Percy’s stomach. The healer smelled so nice and felt so real. The tears started to flow at the corners of his eyes. They were going to the final. 

“I-I-I’m so  _ happy _ \-- fuck Marcus Flint, we’re so much  _ better  _ than him. Oh MERLIN, I can’t believe we won--” his words jumbled together.

Percy congratulated him, patting his back. Oliver nearly purred at the touch, loving the way the healer’s hand felt. Percy still managed to wriggle his way out. 

“Where are ye going?” he frowned, squinting at the healer. He had cute glasses. Oliver wished he could try them on. “Can I wear yer glasses?” Oliver reached for Percy’s face. 

“No I need them to see. I’m preparing your dose--” the healer paused, gently pushing Oliver’s hand down. Wow, Percy was pretty. Oliver smiled wider, hand still gripping the robe. 

“But I dinnae want Skele-Gro.” Oliver pouted. “Percy, why are you being so  _ mean _ , I thought you liked me--” The kisses from his dream were evidence to this.

“Oliver, I can’t leave you with a boneless lower leg,” he pointed at Oliver’s leg.

Oliver gasped, turning his attention to his sagging limb. Where did his bones go! Oliver reached to grab the limb, “Where’d they go?” Percy quickly batted his hand away. “How did they go away? Did they run away? Bones can’t run away…” he whispered, mouth slightly ajar in horror. Were his other bones going to make a run for it?

Percy started talking about some medical nonsense. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Percy pouring a full cup of Skele-Gro. Oliver grabbed his pillow pushing it onto his face. His face twisted in displeasure. He wasn’t taking that. He begged Percy to knock him out instead. 

“I dinnae like it. Tasted bad,” he stuck his tongue out. “Makes me sick -- what if we found my bones and put them back?” Oliver slurred. Those damn bones were hiding around somewhere. 

“What do you mean makes you… do you have side effects?” 

Oliver didn’t want to talk about that. But Percy looked so  _ worried,  _ he didn’t want Percy to be worried about him. He always had headaches on Skele-Gro, and his childhood healer, Healer Dunaid said he was rather aggressive. A few years ago, he’d apparated to the car park when left unattended on Skele-Gro.

“I dinnae remember  _ anything _ , it  _ hurts _ ,” Oliver whined. “And… and I run.”

Percy chuckled, “I don’t think we’ll need to worry about you  _ running  _ this time, Oliver.”

Normally, Oliver would have laughed his head off, Percy was so funny. But all he could do right now was stare at that cup of stinking liquid. Percy kept advancing it towards him and Oliver recoiled in disgust. 

“Ollie, if you don’t take it, I’ll have to restrain you. Your bones are gone. We need to regrow them -- unless you’d prefer I amputate them.”

Maybe Percy should amputate -- no, that would mean no Quidditch. Oliver wanted to play Quidditch. Although, being restrained by Percy didn’t sound too bad… that sounded nice. Percy wanted to use restraints… this was more dream-like than before. Still, Oliver didn’t want to take it.

“Oliver, do I have to call the Mediwizard?”

Oliver didn’t reply. Percy’s hand still extended in front of him. Then an incredible idea came to mind. Oliver took the cup and tucked it under his arm. He smiled politely, blinking innocently at Percy. “Nae,” Oliver smiled. Percy didn’t have to call the Mediwizard if the potion was gone. “I drank it.” 

“I can see that you didn’t take it, Oliver.”

“Nae, where’s the cup? No Skele-Gro left, I drank it all,” Oliver lied. The cup was still on his lap. “No need for anymore assistance.” he mumbled.

“Mediwizard--” Percy raised his voice. Oliver grabbed the healer’s robes. He tugged to get Percy to stop. He didn’t want to be pinned down. He liked his freedom.

“Please don’t call the mediwizard,” Oliver pleaded, his eyes trying to focus on Percy again. “I dinnae like being restrained.”

“Take the potion,” Percy ordered. “Now.”

Oliver stuck his bottom lip out, looking up at Percy. Oliver dragged out a very long sigh, holding the cup up and staring at its contents. The mucky black color glared back. Gulping, Oliver raised it to his mouth and opened it slightly. 

“Good, now drink.”

Oliver shuddered, closing his eyes. He swallowed the potion as fast as humanly allowed. The burning sensation taking over his esophagus. He gagged, throwing the cup away from him. His tongue hurt. He tried to wipe it on the hospital robes. When a glass of water appeared in front of him, Oliver chugged it down swishing the potion out of his mouth. Percy walked towards the door.

“Ye can’t  _ leave  _ me,” Oliver whispered, his eyes widening. He hugged his pillow close, his mouth and nose partially buried in it. “No, ye can’t  _ go _ \-- ye can stay here, I won’t bother ye, I  _ promise _ ,” Oliver said, nodding his head to emphasize the point. 

“Very well,” Percy nodded. “I’m working in the corner, alright? I need to retrieve more files…” 

Oliver smiled in return already feeling the beginnings of achiness in his body again. He faded out for a few minutes wondering where Percy had gone off to. He said getting work though. Oliver cuddled deeper into his bed trying to be even more comfortable than before. The burning finally started to fade. 

Percy re-entered the room with a stack of papers. “Whatcha workin’ on?” Oliver blinked. 

“That’s confidential,” Percy shuffled the papers. 

Percy didn’t seem like he was in the mood to talk, but Oliver was happy just watching him. He looked so handsome when he worked, the quill scribbling furiously on paper and the specks of ink on the back of his hand. And his glasses kept sliding down his long, angular nose… Oliver wished he could walk over and push them back up. Or maybe take those glasses off and kiss Percy. That would be very fun, Oliver decided. Percy noticed Oliver staring at him.

“Ollie, I can get a book or perhaps a radio. I’m sorry we lack in entertainment.”

There was plenty of entertainment with someone so beautiful sitting only a few feet away. “I’m happy looking at ye,” Oliver smiled. The man had the most captivating features. Oliver couldn’t quite see Percy’s defined freckles, but he imagined they were there still. “Yer very pretty.” 

Oliver batted his eyelashes and tilted his head to the side, showing off his grin. “Do people tell ye that often, Percy? Yer so pretty, and smart, and  _ professional _ .” What did he do to deserve such a professional? He giggled a little, his chest warm. 

“Why don’t we talk about something else, Mr. Wood?” Percy suggested. Oliver didn’t like that idea at all.

“Yer my favorite thing to talk about.”

“Yes, well… I don’t enjoy talking about myself.”

“Why not?” Oliver frowned. He raised his eyebrows in worry. Percy should enjoy talking about himself; he was so terribly wonderful and perfect. 

“I simply don’t enjoy it, Oliver.”

Oliver wanted to sleep, but he kept having a hard time when Percy was right there. He wanted to stare at the man all day if possible. He tried to be quiet. Percy wanted to do his work. But, his pillow became very distracting. Then he remembered he played a Quidditch game. Who won? 

“We won the game?” Oliver mumbled, tossing the pillow at Percy. Percy got his hands up in time, catching the pillow. Those were chasers’ reflexes. “Ye would make a good Chaser. Re-- Reflexes.”

“You won,” Percy chuckled, taking the pillow and putting it beside him. Oliver wanted his pillow back. He wanted to practice his throws. A second later, Oliver took his other pillow and tried to catch Percy off guard. “Ollie, stop this.”

Oliver pouted, pressing his face close to the mattress. He batted his eyes. “Can I have my pillow back? I dinnae have anywhere to put my head,” he spoke softly. It was an excellent excuse to get the healer to come back over to his bed.

“You shouldn’t throw the pillows, then,” Percy stood, collecting the pillows. Oliver watched as the healer stood back up.

“Nae, stay there,” Oliver insisted, his voice heavy. “Toss ‘em.” Oliver could catch anything. He was the  _ best _ keeper in the whole league after all. Marcus Flint could kiss his arse. 

“I can’t throw--”

“Yer a chaser,” Oliver sat up. “I’m a Keeper. I’m a  _ great  _ Keeper.”

Percy wouldn’t play, so Oliver decided that Puddlemere won. Oh, Percy was back over by his bed again. Wow. He had nice glasses. His eyes were slightly magnified showing the vibrant blue underneath. “Can I wear yer glasses?” Oliver bet he would look good in them -- or very funny. 

“You’ve asked that, I said no,” Percy reminded, carefully arranging the pillows again.

“Why are yer robes green?”

“I’m a healer.”

“I wish they were blue, like yer eyes. Ye should wear blue more often.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Percy smiled, locking the pillows in place. Oliver blushed at Percy’s smile. His teeth looked so perfect. Percy’s hair was parted to the side. His freckles decorated his cheekbones. Oliver almost reached up to touch the man’s face again, but he remembered Percy didn’t like that. 

Oliver beamed at the healer before he tried to sleep again. When he tried to adjust his pillows, they were stuck in place. “Percy--” he said, pouting to the man. “My pillows are stuck, Percy.” 

The healer stood after a moment helping Oliver rearrange them. When he started to move, Oliver scowled at the sudden sharp pain in his leg. He tried to relax. He asked Percy what he was doing, but the healer remained silent. After a while, he became quiet. 

***

It must have been within the next half hour that the pain came like a freight train. Oliver furrowed his brows beginning to shift around and wriggle on the bed. His leg felt like a large splinter had been jabbed in. Why did it hurt so much? Oliver bit his lip. 

“Ollie, are you alright?”

Oliver grunted in response. He didn’t feel well. He started to get hot. He tried to take his blanket off of him. When it was gone, he huffed. 

Oliver groaned loudly. “I want pain medication.” That would make the pain go away. It worked before, and now his head started to throb. The lights hurt his eyes. Everything was too loud. He raised his hands to press against his temples. “Please-- fuck,” he rasped, when another splinter lodged itself deeper into his leg. 

“Ye’ve poisoned me,” Oliver growled. He pushed the palms of his hands to his eyes now. “Trying to kill me -- probably hired by Flint.”

“I’m Healer Weasley, I’m--”

“I ken who ye are,” Oliver let out a few heavy breaths, trying to shove his face into one of the pillows. Cut it off. He didn’t need it. “My bloody leg -- cut it off, ye said ye’d amputate--” he complained. 

He grabbed the pillow trying to move it again. He wanted to scream into it. He tugged and tugged growling in frustration. The feathers exploded everywhere covering Oliver in soft white feathers. 

“Ollie,” Percy spoke, his voice taking an authoritative tone. “You need to calm down or--”

“Knock me out,” Oliver turned to him, eyes wide. If misbehavior meant he could be put to sleep, then he would rip twenty more pillows. “Sleeping draughts, yeah?”

Percy shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ollie.”

Oliver slumped on the bed, glaring at Percy. What good was a healer who couldn’t stop his pain? Oliver knew it wasn’t fair. Skele-gro rendered ineffective if taken with other potions. All of the feathers began to lift and funnel back into the ripped pillow behind Oliver’s head. 

“Oi, Wood! Ready for visitors?”

“What d’ya want, Potter?” Oliver moaned, trying to roll over away from the man. Of course Potter had to visit. He didn’t want people to see him right now. He looked terrible. “Percy, take this off--”

“Perhaps some company will be good for you,” Percy cleared his throat. “Oliver, won’t visitors be nice?”

Oliver disagreed with that idea. Ginny entered, an enormous gift basket. It had probably come from the office, filled with Puddlemere merchandise. He hung his head for a moment before he made his best effort to smile. They didn’t have to visit after all. 

“That for me?” He asked Ginny, forcing himself into a seated position. 

Ginny grinned as Percy politely excused himself from the room. Oliver wanted him to stay, but he was such a damn  _ professional  _ that he didn’t want to see Oliver happy. Percy was probably plotting a way to administer a second dose of poison. 

“Wood, you should have  _ seen  _ how Diggory threw back that firewhiskey -- though, nobody can hold their drink like you,” Potter declared. 

Oliver tried to sit up again. He flinched glaring momentarily at his leg. “Aye, thank ye,” he managed weakly.

“You feel good, Wood? No offense, mate, but you look  _ terrible _ ,” Ginny snorted, moving over to the head of the bed to brush Oliver’s hair back for him. “You’re too hot--”

“Ginny, you can’t say that,” Potter pouted slightly. “You’re supposed to say  _ I’m  _ hot--”

“Don’t encourage yer girlfriend to lie, Potter.”

“Seconded,” Ginny laughed. “I should get Percy, your temperature is through the roof--”

Oliver shook his head, pushing Ginny’s hand away. “I feel fine.”

“When are you getting out?” Potter asked, stealing a chair to sit in. “Want to know how long I have the flat to myself--”

“I want to go home,” Oliver answered. “Potter, take me home with ye--”

“Wood, you don’t have bones,” Ginny laughed. “You can’t go home without bones in your leg.” 

Oliver glared at her, “Nae, I can. I can take Skele-Gro at  _ home _ .” He struggled to get up more. His stupid leg stayed in place. He tried to tug against the suspension charm, but there was no budging. 

As his upper body lunged off of the bed, Potter caught him and pushed him back to the pillows. “Mate, you’re stuck here--”

Oliver rubbed his hands over his face. “Discharge me, Potter. Discharge me right now -- I’m thirty. I am an adult. I can go home--” 

It took another ten minutes for Ginny and Potter to convince Oliver that going back to his flat was not a viable option. They talked about the upcoming final match. Even planned how the next match of the season with the Bats would be a bloodbath against Marcus Flint for what he did. Oliver wanted to hex the bastard. It took all his self control not to do it. Soon, it was harder to listen to whatever they were saying. 

Oliver grabbed Potter by the arm, cutting him off mid sentence. “Potter, take me home,  _ please _ ,” he whispered, looking at his friend. Potter would listen. He always listened to Oliver. 

“Mate, no offense, but I can’t take care of you like this--”

“I’ll give ye my Gringotts vault if ye take me home,  _ now _ . Undo this fucking suspension charm--” Oliver whined, gasping when his leg started to throb. “Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, beating the back of his head into the bed. 

Potter sighed, “Oliver, you need to relax. You have Percy here! Isn’t that nice? You kept saying how much you missed him--”

“Some  _ quality time  _ with Percy,” Ginny teased. “And he has such pretty hair. Oliver, you want to stay, trust me.”

“Nae,” Oliver replied. His head hurt so much. His bottom lip trembled for a split second before he bit into it. Why was it so hot? “Get me out of here. Prison break -- ye know how to do stupid shite.”

“Mate, you remember where you are right?” Potter joked. 

“Headache,” Oliver hummed. “I wanna leave,” he grunted, starting to tug on the hospital robe. “Potter, it's too hot.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Percy before taking that off?” Potter replied, standing up to go to Oliver’s side. “Ginny’s here, mate, cover up.”

“I don’t care,” Ginny shrugged, sitting on the windowsill. 

Oliver managed to get the bloody thing off, leaving it to cover his lower half. The back was tied so Oliver couldn’t completely take it off of him. He groaned again as his leg started to scream in pain. He took a steadying breath beginning to lose his general awareness of his surroundings. His tanned chest had a thin layer of sweat on it. “Potter,  _ please _ \--”

Potter leaned in closer to adjust Oliver’s blankets. “I’m not taking you home, mate. Get it out of your head.”

Oliver managed to get a hold of Harry’s glasses. This would teach him. He broke the frames in his hands glaring at his flatmate. He kept the broken pieces in his hand, lip protruding in the biggest pout mankind has ever seen. “Take me  _ home _ . I’ll leave myself. I hate hospitals --” 

“Holy shit, Wood,” Ginny laughed. “Can we even fix those?”

“Oi! You broke my glasses, c’mon mate--” Potter groaned. “I’ll be right back, Wood, Ginny watch him--” Potter sighed, blindly heading toward the door. He nearly hit the door frame, but he dodged it. 

“Get your boyfriend for you,” he added when he was far enough away Oliver couldn’t grab him. 

“No don’t! Don’t get Percy,” Oliver protested, trying to shout after Harry. 

“Oh, he is your boyfriend, then?” Ginny winked. 

But then, the man saw his opportunity. Oliver tried to find his wand. He tapped his thigh where he usually put it. No luck -- someone had taken it. His thoughts started to jumble again. The light hurt, and he knew he could shut himself into his cold, dark bedroom in his flat. That sounded nice. No people would bother him there. 

He tried to move his leg feeling the resistance. He moved his hands to his ankle. The bones weren’t quite there yet. His thigh trembled at the movement. 

It was too hard. 

He collapsed back now in an awkward position on the bed. Oliver wanted to leave. He was ready to sign his discharge papers. He must have been here for days. 

“C’mon…” he mumbled. 

“Oliver, what do you need?” Ginny asked, starting to walk over. Right, he needed to get rid of her. 

“Gin-- can ye get me some ice chips?” Oliver stuck out his lower lip in a false plea. “So hot…”

“Of course,” Ginny mussed his hair, heading towards the door. That gave him time.

Oliver couldn’t figure out how he ended up dangling off the bed. His robe tied around his waist, and he hung over the side. His hands pressed onto the cold ground. Blood rushing to his head. He shoved the blanket between his teeth when his leg protested the movement. Each time he screamed it was muffled between the fabric. 

_ Just a little bit more _ . He thought to himself triumphantly. If he got to the window, he could use the blanket as a rope and escape. The suspension charm stayed strong on his leg. Oliver slumped onto his forearms knowing he was mooning whoever came into the room. Hopefully nobody was coming.

His free leg remained on the bed  _ so close  _ to coming over the edge. Oliver didn’t want to overstretch himself. So he dangled there. He closed his eyes deciding it was an awful decision after the fact. Was there a way to get back up on the bed? 

The door opened and he heard a woman’s laughter. Oliver couldn’t move and he felt too ill. 

“Lookin’  _ good,  _ Wood!” Ginny hardly got the words out as laughter overwhelmed her. He thought he heard his ice chips fall to the floor. 

The door opened again and someone’s shoes squeaked against the floor. Shit, that must have been Potter. 

“G-Ginny,” he snorted. “You were supposed to stop him if he climbed out again--”

“Mate, he’s got a hundred pounds on me!” Ginny cackled. 

“I want to leave,” Oliver muttered, blanket falling from his mouth. He moaned, burying his face into his biceps. This was humiliating.“Let me--”

Oliver, who was stuck in a handstand with his leg still entrapped in the suspension charm, shifted on his arms, trying to push himself back onto the bed. He huffed and puffed feeling his arms tremble under the weight. 

“Again? You should have come to get me the first time-- Oliver, stop moving.”

Great,  _ Percy  _ was here. 

“Oliver, you’re going to need another round of Skele-Gro if you break your bones  _ while they’re growing _ ,” Percy said. Oliver blushed at Percy seeing his arse. He felt arms tucked under his shoulders. 

When the new position pulled too much on his legs he wailed. “My leg, yer moving my bloody leg!” Oliver wailed. 

Oliver whined until Potter came over to assist. The man whimpered until Percy managed to push him onto the bed. Oliver hit the bed laying there for a minute trying to catch his breath. If he was hot before, he was steaming now. Oliver tried to gather his bearings when Harry and Ginny’s laughter became even louder. 

_ Let me go home and be in peace _ . Oliver muttered, “I was hot -- and my leg hurts.”

Despite Oliver’s protests, Percy started wrestling him into a new hospital gown. Oliver already had a flushed color from the fever and Percy’s fingertips made him shiver. It was intimate, and if Oliver wasn’t so damn hot and furious, he might have been turned on by the closeness.

Ginny wheezed, “Wood, you should take Percy out to dinner  _ first _ .”

Oh Merlin’s Beard, Ginny Weasley was in the room, right. Oliver’s blush came back as he covered his face in embarrassment. His head pounded at the noise. 

“Ginevra,” Percy said. “I’m going to have you escorted from the hospital if you harass  _ my patient _ \--”

“She can stay,” Oliver mumbled. As much as he appreciated Percy’s protection, he could handle a Weasley’s harassment. At least Fred and George weren’t here to visit. “But if ye don’t shut up Weasley--  _ Ginny _ \--”

“She’ll stop,” Potter grinned stupidly, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “Wood, if the potions work, you’ll forget what happened in a few minutes -- but  _ we never will _ . Pity us for that, yeah?”

What did that mean? Oliver continued to keep his gaze down. The amount of movement he did tuckered him out quite a bit now though the pain kept him conscious. 

“If ye ever mention any of this to the team, yer dead.”

Percy crouched down, scooping up something on the floor. Was it glass? Where did glass come from? 

“Oliver, did you break these glasses by hand?”

“After I refused to accept his bribe,” Harry laughed. Percy returned a perfect pair of glasses to the Seeker. Once Harry put them on, he looked as dumb as ever. 

Oliver shrugged. “I dinnae what yer talking about.” His head hurt too much to talk about it.

“You must have been quite angry. I can’t blame you when it comes to these two,” Percy joked. He was so funny, how could someone be so funny but  _ also  _ force you to take Skele-Gro?

“Percy,” Ginny gasped in mock offense. 

“Let me see your hands,” Percy sat down next to Oliver.

“I don’t have--” Oliver looked at his hands, which had a series of small scratches. They weren’t too bad. It looked like he scraped them on the pavement. “I don’t have anything.”

Oliver hesitated but eventually outstretched his hands. He gave a slight smile at those cool fingers touching him again and wrapping around his left wrist. The cuts were dabbed away with dittany. His fluster started to fade once more, feeling his heartbeat begin to steady. As soon as the cuts sealed, Oliver quickly pulled his hands back to his lap.

“Percy, if he doesn’t heal, I’ll assume you’ve been bribed by the Tornadoes,” Harry chuckled. 

Oliver’s bed shook as Ginny hopped onto the end, a glint of mischief in her brown eyes. “So, Oliver, you and Percy must have gotten very well-acquainted this morning--”

Before a red-faced Oliver could protest the implication, Percy interrupted and argued a bit with his sister about propriety and professionalism. Oliver, while sad that Percy was so offended at the idea of any connection between them, was grateful that Ginny wasn’t going to tease him anymore. 

Oliver tried his best to talk to Ginny and Potter. They stayed off topic discussing their trip to the Azores. Oliver already knew about the holiday from Potter’s breakfast ramblings. From what he knew, Potter planned to propose to the youngest Weasley there. It would be after the final, and Oliver couldn’t think of anything better. Though, he tried his best to keep his mate’s secret. 

When Harry and Ginny left a few hours later, Oliver grew fidgety and Percy tried to talk him down as his accidental magic tore open a window. 

“I’m getting out,” Oliver growled. “Ye said the bones are all back.”

“And they’re quite fragile. I know it’s painful--”

Nobody had said  _ anything  _ about how fragile his leg was. At least, not anything that Oliver remembered. He was thirty, he had a right to his medical information. 

“How bad is the injury? Am I going to play again?”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Percy replied. A healer’s favorite line was not promising or guaranteeing recovery. At least Dunaid told Oliver how bad his injuries were. “But your ACL appears to be attached to the tibia. With proper physical therapy, and perhaps a few weeks rest, you can lead an active lifestyle.”

That left Oliver one choice: do as Percy said. Now that his future was decided, Oliver looked back at the Healer. Maybe that was worth another shot. 

“Aye, but that can’t have been my last game. Hell of a match, but the next one will be even better,” Oliver grinned. “Listen, I can get ye tickets. My family’s not big anyways and they give us plenty--”

Percy was already shaking his head. Oliver’s heart dropped. He wanted so badly for Percy to come to a game, it would give Oliver the chance to… to prove his worth somehow. 

“Ye don’t like Quidditch?”

“It would be inappropriate to accept a gift from a patient,” Percy cleared his throat.

This was ridiculous, Percy was hiding behind that veil of professionalism all over again. Oliver began to argue that Percy wasn’t his healer and  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t be by the time of the final when Percy supplied another excuse. 

“I already have tickets.”

“They won’t be as good as these,” Oliver wiggled his eyebrows. “Right behind the Puddlemere hoops.”

_ And right behind me _ , Oliver added silently.

Apparently, Fred and George were in the way of Percy getting perfect seats to watch Oliver for the entire game. The twins, who were notorious Holyhead Harpies fans, acquired a box for the entire Weasley family -- including Percy. 

“Sorry, Mr. Wood, I can’t--”

“I offer tickets to the match of the year and I become Mr. Wood again?” Oliver laughed. Another idea came to his mind.“Ye’ll come to the celebrations after, won’t ye?

“Don’t you have to win first?”

As if that was a question. 

“Aye,” Oliver grinned. “And we will. Once ye’ve fixed my leg up -- and I follow all of yer rules -- we’re unstoppable.”

Percy gave him an odd look, a slight smile on his face. “I suppose if you win and if I’m not required to work and if I can get into the celebrations, I’ll see you there. Quite a few assumptions, Mr. Wood.”

“If yer willing to make that promise, I’m willing to follow yer silly rules, Healer Weasley,” Oliver grinned.

Hallelujah, Percy Weasley would be there after his match. All he had to do was win the pennant, and then… how could Percy say no to a freshly-minted champion? A four time pennant winning champion at that!

“I’ll need to apply another suspension charm,” Percy changed the topic, approaching the bed again. “Can’t have you running off on me.”

“I would never run off on you,” Oliver winked dramatically.

“You’ve tried three times today,” Percy smirked, casting the charm. Oliver pouted. Percy was  _ too  _ good at his job.

When his eldest sister, Ava, came, Oliver couldn’t help but grin. He loved his sister more than anything in the world along with her husband and his niece and nephew. She came to save him at long last. “Ollie, I’m going to bring ye to mum and dad’s, okay? Dad already made up yer bed,” she smiled, brushing her fingers through Oliver’s hair. “Feeling okay?”

“Much better,” Oliver mumbled, relaxing under her touch. 

The discharge papers were handled by Ava as Oliver signed when asked. He kept his eyes closed hoping to go to bed as soon as he was with his parents. 

“I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble,” Ava smiled sweetly to Percy. “Ollie can be a handful on Skele-Gro--”

“He’s aware,” Oliver mumbled, a blush returning to his cheeks. He tried to stay in an upright position. 

“Best of luck in the final,” Percy patted his shoulder. “Try not to end up back here afterward.”

Oliver looked up at Percy giving a strong nod. He let Ava drag him into the Floo. He took one last look at Healer Weasley… he really wanted to see the man outside a hospital. For now, he needed to recover again. 

It all came together in the end. Ava and James checked on him daily as he accepted his parents' help. His father teased him a few times for getting injured twice in a row. His mother worried needlessly. The Prophet continued to publish dumb articles about his ‘mysterious injury’. Oliver managed to walk around the house by the beginning of the third week. 

When he finally got back to his flat with Potter, he settled in nicely. Not needing crutches, Oliver continued to work with Diggory during modified practices to warm up his muscles again. 

***

By the time the final came, Oliver was in match ready shape. Somehow, it was less nerve wracking then the semi-final -- the Bats were undefeated and the Tornadoes got lucky. Not that it meant Oliver would play down, but Potter outperformed the Tornadoes seeker with ease. 

The electric energy surged in every player in the insanely packed arena surrounding the pitch. Oliver felt healthy and strong. He practically bounced off his broom when the quaffles started coming. The game only lasted two hours, and Oliver was proud of his 230 to 30 endscore. 

Joining his team on the pitch, Oliver hugged the living hell out of Potter before the seeker was hoisted onto the beaters shoulders. When the pennant cup appeared finally, he held onto it and put it high above his head. It felt sweeter every time he did it. 

As the team cycled through the showers continually screaming they won at the top of their lungs, Oliver laughed in ecstasy. He tugged his navy slacks on and found his trainers buried in the locker. “New jersey already!” Potter shouted, tossing Oliver the navy and gold long sleeve. 

The locker room reeked of popped champagne. They crowded around the pennant laughing to one another before resolving to go to the next party. Oliver sported his new championship badge on his chest hugging and kissing more people than he could count. His family found him -- his father hugged him tightly, and his mother cried  _ again _ . Oliver held his niece and nephew, Fiona and Duncan. 

Eventually Oliver found himself in a host of photographs. He was surrounded by his old teammates he had won past cups with. The conversations overloaded his senses after a while. He chose to take a break tucked in the corner with another glass of champagne. Potter was already five glasses deep, and Ginny was catching up. “Don’t drink too much--” Oliver began, before he was waved off.

Music blasted around the club as Oliver assimilated himself back into the congratulatory crowd. He never felt so happy. Lee Jordan, the final’s announcer, came over to make another announcement. “And now, a speech!” 

Oliver felt his arm grabbed suddenly. “Wood c’mon,” Simmons laughed, tugging the keeper through the crowd without hesitation. Lee lowered the radio volume slightly, waving his wand to produce a shower of confetti. “From Puddlemere Captain Rudyard Simmons!”

As Oliver appeared on the stage, he beamed to the crowd. It was a bit different then being on the pitch, but it was his day to celebrate.

“Thank you, thank you,” Simmons waved his hand and the cheering and applause died out. “Thank you to my team, my family -- they might as well be the same,” Simmons laughed, wrapping an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. Oliver wrapped his arm around Simmons’ back. “We won today, and it’s because these men and women  _ ride, bleed, and die  _ United!” 

Oliver tucked his pinky and pointer finger in his mouth letting out a long sharp whistle. The crowd had a similar reaction. He scanned around spotting so many familiar and strange faces. 

“I’ve… I’ve been with this team my whole career,” Simmons started getting choked up. Oliver patted his captain reassuringly. It had been a wild ride with Simmons -- starting on the team at the same time all those years ago. “It’s been an honor. And a privilege. And I look forward to watching you defend this victory next year… under Captain  _ Oliver Wood! _ ” 

Simmons seized Oliver’s hand, thrusting it into the air as the room went wild. Oliver’s heart leapt out of his chest as his smile grew wider. He noticed his uniform suddenly sporting the captain insignia on his shoulder. 

What the fuck!

Oliver started to laugh as he picked up Simmons and spun him around three times for good measure. He pulled the captain close, patting him roughly on the back. “Ye won’t be disappointed,” he mumbled into the man’s ear. 

“I expect three more from you, Wood,” Simmons replied. 

Oliver turned to see Simmons’ family picking up his eldest, Isabelle as she screamed her tiny head off. He pulled out his wand raising it to his throat, “To the next step in yer career!” Oliver joined the family’s hug, lifting one of the children onto his shoulder. “To Simmons!” 

When he got off the stage, his friends and family swarmed him. Oliver couldn’t help but turn his shoulder to show the ‘C’ plastered proudly on him. “Looks good, aye?” he told his father, who hugged him even tighter. 

Oliver kissed and hugged all over again. This was the best day of his life by far. A brief memory came to mind when he received the Gryffindor Captain position. It was hardly as grand simply coming via letter, but the emotion was the same raw excitement and motivation that Oliver still had nearly fifteen years later. 

“Suppose you’re Captain Wood all over again!” Fred clapped him on the back, spinning Oliver around. George and Angelina followed in suit. “How does it feel then?”

“Good,” Oliver managed, laughing all over again. “Captain Wood always was my preferred title, aye?”

As he came around to the bar, his breath ceased. Oliver’s smile didn’t fall but got wider. He couldn’t tell if he was walking or running when he wrapped his arms around the man. “Percy! Ye came!” he exclaimed. He squeezed them even closer.

“Err… yes. Congratulations, Captain Wood,” Percy replied.

Oliver stepped back, clapping Percy’s shoulders. “Aye, I get yer love for formalities now,  _ Healer Weasley _ ,” Oliver laughed. Captain Wood sounded like sin from Percy’s lips. Yet, Percy had privilege over his childhood nickname ‘Ollie’. “But I think I still prefer hearing ye say Ollie.” 

“As you say, Captain Ollie.” 

That got a laugh out of Oliver. His chest warmed from the smile on Percy’s face. “Excellent match.”

“Oi,” Oliver leaned over the bar, motioning the bartender over. “Percy, what do ye want?”

“Oh, no, I’m all set,” Percy frowned, shaking his head. 

Oliver chose to ignore the healer. After all, Percy Weasley was part of the reason Puddlemere won the pennant. When the woman came over, Oliver leaned in closer, “This is the man who made sure I could play today. Any of that champagne left?”

Naturally, Oliver got two champagne flutes. He gave a toast to Percy for healing his leg and for winning the game and for becoming captain -- Percy pointed out that a cheers usually was for one thing. Oliver shrugged, winking at the man in return. “There’s no harm in celebrating many things.”

Oliver maintained his attention on Percy as they went close to a play by play of the match. Percy knew a fair bit about Quidditch too.

The longer Oliver stared at Percy’s stunning eyes clad in a Puddlemere jersey (which was almost too much for Oliver’s eyes) -- the more he resolved to get the healer to see him again. Outside of the hospital and the social gatherings, Oliver wanted to talk to Percy without their careers butting in the way. 

As he went on a rambling compliment about Oliver’s blocking abilities, Percy’s hand -- the one not holding the champagne -- waved around in front of him. It was rather cute how he talked with his hands. Surprisingly, the hand landed comfortably on Oliver’s shoulder and Oliver almost laughed at how Percy stared at his own hand a bit surprised. But rather than pulling it away and hastily apologizing, the healer looked at Oliver with a curious expression on his face. Hang on, what--

“Oliver, we should get drinks sometime,” Percy nodded, finally pulling his hand away. Shit, Oliver should have savored it a bit longer while it was there. And wait, did Percy ask--

“Aye, I’d like that,” Oliver grinned, the words spilling out of his mouth. Getting captain, getting a date with Percy Weasley -- all things were coming up for Oliver Wood tonight. And Percy had asked  _ him _ , this was spectacular. 

Unfortunately, Percy acted like he hadn’t heard Oliver’s reply, brushing off his suggestion with a “Oh, you’ll probably be busy with interviews and press.”

“And besides, my schedule is very busy at work,” Percy shrugged, a small frown on his face. 

Who cared? Oliver could make time in his schedule if he wished. Naturally, he made this sentiment known following with, “But we’ll make time. C’mon, I can’t injure myself whenever I want to see ye.” Besides he wasn’t in season anymore -- it would have to be a rather deliberate injury or a fake one to get on Percy’s examination table. 

“I suppose… I suppose we could,” Percy said, starting to smile. 

Oliver clapped a hand on his shoulder and let his hand linger for the sweetest moment. Seeing Percy’s thin build in clothing other than the ugly green robes… It was perfect. Other than becoming captain -- it might have been the best moment staring at the way Percy’s hair started to come undone from its usual secure hold. 

“Excellent, ye can write me or I can write ye--”

“ATTENTION!” Harry yelled, vaulting his way onto the stage at the front of the room. “A SPEECH! I HAVE A SPEECH!”

“Oi, Potter,” Oliver laughed, elbowing Percy’s side. “What d'ya think he’s up to?”

“Ginny?” Harry peered out over the crowd. “Ginny, where are you? Ginny-- oh, there you are.”

Ginny Weasley soon appeared, red from the attention. She gave a wave to the crowd and leaned in to whisper to Harry. 

“Shhh,” Harry grabbed Ginny’s hand and walked her to the center stage. Holding his wand at his throat, he amplified his voice as he circled his girlfriend. 

“I caught a snitch today, and that’s wicked,” Harry bowed as everyone applauded Puddlemere’s victory again. Oliver made sure to whistle for added support. It was a  _ bloody _ good victory after all. “But--  _ but--  _ I made the greatest catch of a lifetime when Ginny Weasley agreed to date me.”

Oliver wanted to roll his eyes, but his heart melted the slightest bit for his mate. He had known Harry since the man’s first year. It was nice to know his friend had someone as lovely (and talented as a chaser -- god once again incredible children --) as Ginny. 

“Kiss!” One of the twins hollered from the dance floor. 

“In a moment, Freddie-- or Georgie? No matter,” Harry brushed off the interruption. “For those of you who don’t know, Ginevra Weasley is a badass, super hot, sexy--”

As Harry launched into his speech, Oliver noticed the way the man fidgeted with something in his pocket. 

Ah.

“Beautiful, magnificent, magical goddess. And I don’t know why she’s with me, I really don’t,” Harry said. Oliver started to recall the parts of Harry’s engagement speech they went over five times the past week. “She’s the love of my life, and this victory wouldn’t mean anything if she wasn’t a part of my life.”

“I took some risks on the pitch today, but I think this is the biggest risk yet.” He dropped to one knee. Everyone in the room gasped. 

“Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?” 

“He went off speech…” Oliver muttered, still grinning toward the stage as Harry, getting drunker by the second, snogged Ginny without a  _ care _ in the world. He hoped the love birds decided to shack up in Ginny’s flat tonight. 

“He was going to do that in the Azores, wasn’t he?” Percy whispered back. 

“Aye,” Oliver chuckled. However, with the proposal, Oliver decided he deserved a damn chance at love like that. He wanted Percy Weasley, so he was going to get him. “So about that letter--”

Percy began stuttering out a mostly positive agreement to getting drinks. Oliver smiled as the man turned a soft pink avoiding eye contact. Percy fiddled with his champagne flute smiling at the floor.  _ He’s perfect _ . 

“Okay, yes, okay…” Percy repeated, pushing up his glasses. 

Fred appeared next to them, grabbing Percy’s arm. “Mum wants a family photo, Perce -- oh, hello, Wood--”

“So sorry,” Percy nodded at Oliver. Oliver shrugged. His sister did just get engaged, so he couldn’t really oppose Fred kidnapping his love interest. “Ah, yes, Mr. Wood, I’ll certainly be… be in touch on that matter.”

“That matter--” Oliver frowned, but Percy had disappeared into the crowd. Oliver’s brows furrowed as far as they could go as his mouth hung slightly ajar. How did he go from Captain Ollie to Mr. Wood in a matter of minutes? Well… he would have to wait for the next letter. “I’m going tae need more champagne--” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy... tough break for Oliver. What do we think? Is Percy finally going to make a move? We're halfway through now, and clearly Oliver Wood has very romantic intentions with Percy Weasley.


	4. Stop Leading Me On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course… might need yer address for that--”
> 
> “Confidential,” Percy purred back, tsking under his breath. 
> 
> “Oh is it?” Oliver whispered, leaning closer. He raised his chin ever so slightly noticing how pink Percy’s lips had become from the red wine. “Even for me…”

Where was the letter?

Oliver stared at the flat window. He checked his watch to see he had an interview in twenty minutes. This was ridiculous. Oliver spent half his week waiting for a letter from a man he barely knew. Yet, why did it matter? He committed himself to the idea and he wanted to see it through. 

So, he tore open every letter -- sponsorship request, fan mail, mother’s letter -- none of it was from Percy. He threw the letters onto the ground immediately, pushing his hands through his hair and tugging on the roots. What was he doing? 

Interview, right he had an interview. Oliver hated the other side of victories. He always had -- of course, it was an honor to win the pennant _again_ and became captain. However, his new found responsibilities incorporated being the spokesperson and figure for Puddlemere United. 

Oliver started to wonder if he really was becoming lonely. Then, he looked at his captain badge, and forgot about it. _But Simmons became captain and has a family._

“Captain Wood, do you find it difficult to balance your personal and professional career? You’ve been playing for Puddlemere over a decade now. Especially as a private individual, people were curious if you had a wizard on your mind--”

Another _bloody question about his love life_. Oliver kept a cool expression before he offered a polite smile, “Aye, I am private. I love where I am in my life--” What a lie -- he wanted someone to share his life with, “I’ve focused on my career for some time. I’m creating a stronger club. Nothing makes me happier than playing. I’ve never had an issue with balance.”

If balanced meant 95% Quidditch, 4% basic life functions, and 1% for his social and romantic affairs.

With nothing to do the next day, Oliver perched himself at the kitchen counter. He stared at the window waiting. Around noon, he made lunch and responded to letters. Potter’s owl came in with another batch. What if… what if the letter ended up with Potter’s owl? That made sense right?

Oliver bit his lip, looking around for Potter before he wrestled the letters from Hedwig. “Thank ye,” he scratched the bird’s head. The friendly gesture meant nothing to the damn bird, which began attacking Oliver’s hands and arms until he finally tricked it back into its cage and locked it. Careful not to drip any blood on the paper, Oliver flipped through the stack. Nothing. He put Potter’s letters on the counter, glancing toward the recycling bin. 

What if it got thrown away in the fanmail? Oliver furrowed his brows before he bent down plunging his arm into the bin. He sat on the ground, tipping over the letters. “Fan… James Potter… Lily… Ginny… fan…” Oliver muttered, tossing each letter back in. Would Percy’s letter have gotten mixed up? It could’ve happened. He perked up seeing a ‘P’ on parchment before noticing it said ‘Perseus’ not ‘Percival’-- Perseus was also a sixty year old Puddlemere season ticket holder. 

“What are you doing, Wood?” Potter asked, standing at the front door. “Are you… are you in the rubbish mate?” 

“Nae!” Oliver exclaimed, throwing the evidence down toward the recycling. “I-I misplaced a sponsorship letter and an interview request--”

“Those are sent to the club office and PR team,” Potter countered, throwing his wallet and wand onto the counter. “Wood… are…” he narrowed his eyes. “Did you take the mail from Hedwig again?” 

The snowy white owl rattled loudly in the cage and Harry went over to free her. Oliver shrugged, opening his letter from his father to hide his embarrassment. “I fed her.”

“Mate, you’ve been looking for a letter all week. Who is it from? I already said I’d help you look for it,” Potter answered, rifling through his letters. 

“Nobody, leave it alone,” Oliver grumbled. “I’m made lunch--”

“It’s a bloke isn’t it?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“You sent him a letter and he didn’t reply? You’ve stared at the window for five days,” Potter snorted. “Stop obsessing.”

Oliver huffed, “That’s not what it is--”

“Your track record disproves that,” Potter answered, smacking a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Oliver, no offense but there’s a reason you haven’t had a long term partner since… what was it… 2000?”

Oliver brushed Potter off. He didn’t need to listen to him right now. Percy wanted to take him out, and never gave Oliver his address. That was simply a fact. He wasn’t obsessing. He was hardly ever obsessed about anything. Other than Quidditch, of course. He fell onto the couch pulling the new season’s training plan into his lap. “How are ye?”

“Dad in Mungo’s again, what’s new.”

Oliver winced at the mention of the hospital. He quickly recovered, “Hope he’s alright. Hopefully he’ll be fresh and new soon enough.”

“He’s fine, I saw him earlier,” Potter replied, starting to eat the lunch Oliver made at the counter. Oliver wondered if he should ask if Harry might’ve seen Percy in the corridors. Though, that might make it obvious whose letter was supposed to be coming. After a few minutes of silence, Potter continued, “Oliver, c’mon, you need to move on. This bloke’s not worth the time if he won’t even write you a letter--”

“Stay out of it--”

“I’ve known you for, what, eleven years now? I’m trying to help, mate. You’re an absolute catch, ridiculously fit. Men should be hanging off of you. Why aren’t they, or why aren’t you trying--”

“Fine,” Oliver replied, scribbling notes down into the book. “Thank ye for yer input.”

“Your loss, but don’t bother with whoever’s ignoring you. You’re better than that,” Potter shrugged again. “You just won the pennant title for the fourth time? I’ve seen the looks--”

“Thank ye,” Oliver interrupted, looking at Harry with a firm expression. 

“Whatever,” Potter sighed, rolling his eyes as he wandered into his room with his plate of food. 

“Ye better clean that later!” Oliver hollered after him. He collapsed onto the couch sighing heavily. He closed his eyes trying to push away the image of Percy’s soft lips, eyes, arse-- right obsessive? No, not obsessive-- admiring!

As Oliver laid in bed that night, another day without a letter sent. He resolved to try and forget about Percy Weasley. Until the next day, he continued to look for his owl. So much for forgetting about it. How could he? Oliver never met someone he was so attracted to in his life. It was unfair. 

***

With forced interactions and sponsorships -- one nice excuse to visit his father for a new broom fitting -- Oliver preoccupied himself enough to stop dreaming about Percy for a few days. Oliver found himself grumbling at his uncomfortable white jacket in the Ministry of Magic. He shifted again wishing he could wear his jersey to the 275th Annual Quidditch League Gala. His golden captain badge sat on his chest next to the Puddlemere insignia. 

“Percy’s giving a speech y’know,” Potter nudged Oliver, adjusting his bowtie. Oliver adjusted Potter’s bowtie in kind. 

“Aye? Forgot he would be running this…” Oliver shrugged, smoothing his hair out again. 

“You forgot the Head of Artefact Accidents would run the biggest fundraiser for his department?” Potter countered, rolling his shoulder’s back. “When Ginny left the flat… picture of a goddess--”

Oliver rolled his eyes, shoving Potter for good measure. Ginny made her appearance again hooking her arm around Potter after the Harpies went to their seats. They shuffled forward waiting to be greeted for the event. Oliver stole a glance at Simmons smiling at his wife. All of the team had a date except Oliver. He hadn’t brought anyone to the Gala in years. 

Seeing Percy in black billowing robes shouldn’t have surprised Oliver. But his heart ached -- _no he didn’t bother to send you a letter, it’s been a week. He’s not interested_. Oliver stood at the front, straightening his shoulders. “Healer Weasley,” Oliver said stiffly, offering his hand. Percy took it, shaking it. 

“Captain Wood,” Percy smiled. “Welcome to the Gala, your seats should be by the front--”

“Where are you sitting?” Oliver interrupted. Maybe he’d confront him, challenge him to a duel, seduce him -- whatever it was, Oliver needed to get over the memory of Percy Weasley. It was decided.

“With the Planning Committee, table two,” Percy said. “But I’ll be floating around the room -- I’m more likely to find you than you are to find me.”

Oliver frowned before he returned to a neutral expression. Percy was avoiding him then. Potter was right. Maybe he needed to move on?

“I’ll say,” Oliver grumbled. Percy furrowed his eyebrows in return. Fortunately, Potter took Oliver’s place, allowing the new captain to shake a few more hands. He glanced at Table 2, which was next to Puddlemere’s premier spot at the front. Oliver was jealous of the Chudley Cannons, who were tucked away in the back corner of the room. 

The Gala sucked. Oliver hated to say it, but he watched smiling couples surrounding him decidedly killing his mood. His team insisted on it being a “holiday.” It was no place to talk about next season. Especially with so many teams around. Their new strategies could leak. Oliver kept his mouth shut and drank the champagne supplied. He fiddled with his loose dress pants -- the fitting clearly failed. Not like he lost weight in the few days since it was fitted. 

Why did this even have to happen? It wasn’t like the Quidditch League wouldn’t donate ridiculous amounts of money to the St. Mungo’s department. That would be preposterous. He wished he invited his sister by the time appetizers began. He socialized, of course, avoiding Marcus Flint only meters away. 

“Congratulations,” a new face popped up. They all blurred together anyways.

Oliver merely nodded, smiled, and moved on to get a glass of scotch. Having alcohol might be the only saving grace. “Drinking tonight?” Diggory asked when Oliver sat down at the table again. 

“Aye,” Oliver answered.

As dinner came, Oliver zoned out to listen to the soft classical music humming in the background. He scanned the tables around him seeing Percy tables away. Percy didn’t notice Oliver’s glare, and he laughed at something… Oliver couldn’t stand how happy he looked. He excused himself to head back to the bar. 

“Captain Wood, why such a long face?” 

“Weasley, bugger off,” Oliver sighed, rubbing his face. He felt the presence of his friends on either side of him now. He wished they wouldn’t travel as a unit at all times. He was always outnumbered. “I can’t be bothered tonight.”

Fred replied, patting Oliver on the back. “I almost bought out the entire poster collection for your pennant win--”

“We haven’t seen you since the party, we figured we should steal our chance now,” George added, ordering two butterbeers. 

“What was yer favorite poster?” Oliver replied, taking a swig of his drink. He usually had a high tolerance, but he started to feel the tug in his head. “Potter and I bought the pennant holding ones -- I have four now.”

“They’ll make a monument for you some day, Wood,” Fred cackled. “We preferred the midriff photo from the photo shoot. Angelina bought that one and has it in our flat.”

“Lee _really_ liked that one --”

Right. Fred and George were in happy relationships -- and they were younger than him, _younger and incredibly successful._ He noticed the men grow silent beside him. 

“You holding up, Wood?” George asked. “We’re missing dessert because you looked rather lonely over here.”

“I don’t like dessert, ye know that--” Oliver snorted, sipping his drink. “I imagine yer still eating ten chocolate frogs a day?” 

Fred patted his stomach in an exaggerated manner, “Lee said I _had_ to cut down to five.”

“Angie eats ten with me,” George grinned. 

Oliver thought about Percy Weasley. He noticed the man standing by the Bat’s table now -- getting closer to Puddlemere’s. He looked away. There was no point in going over there then. Was it worth obsessing over someone? The man didn’t _write_ \-- he wasn’t interested. Oliver couldn’t get that part through his thick skull. But, the dedication the ginger had to his job... The way those dumb glasses slid down his _perfect_ nose. The way he stood tall and proud of himself -- his accomplishments. The robes Percy had were tailored to perfection. 

Oliver wanted him and only him and he hadn’t looked at anyone since he met the bloody man. 

As they chatted about miscellaneous subjects, the twins brought up the touchy subject of the past three months. “How’s the love life, Wood?” George grinned, putting his butterbeer down. 

To tell the truth or to lie. Oliver sighed heavily, “It’s shite.” The pressure building in his chest lessened for the moment. “Utter shite.”

“Couldn’t see how when you’re a wildly successful Quidditch professional,” Fred chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Why aren’t the blokes biting, Oliver? Are you scaring them off? No offense, but you look pretty unapproachable right now--” 

“Nae! I --” Oliver took a breath, getting a little red from frustration. It was Potter badgering him in their apartment only days prior. Why was everyone so nosy? He glanced down at his white jacket. He looked _approachable_. “I’m looking.”

George countered, “Why not try someone here?”

Oliver snorted, shutting his eyes. Right try someone here. “Hard to date professionals… it ends up being a competition. Harry and Ginny met before they joined the League-- every Quidditch marriage ends in divorce I swear… and there aren’t many… err--”

“Gay Quidditch blokes? Isn’t Flint gay?” Fred offered. 

“Weasley--” Oliver snapped, fury growing. 

“Relax,” Fred rolled his eyes, smirking. “Just making sure you weren’t into him-- I saw that handshake you gave him after the semi-finals--”

George interrupted, “You’re good enough for someone. Sounds like you need a little…”

“Assistance,” Fred finished. “Fortunately, we can assist -- why don’t we catch up this week?”

“We know so many wizards -- and witches, if you’ve changed your mind. I guarantee we can find someone you like,” George agreed, nudging Oliver. “We can set you up!Lunch, Diagon Alley… next Friday?”

“Aye, that’s fine,” Oliver sighed. “Whoever ye got,” he added. The twins pulled him into a side hug before forcing him to return to his seat. He nursed his drink at the Puddlemere table. 

Potter had the audacity to lean over to him. “Guess who came by--”

“Leave it alone,” Oliver mumbled, tightening his fist under the table.

“Healer Weasley-- what a lovely chap,” the coach mentioned aloud. “Wood, it’s too bad you just missed him.”

“I’ll send him a gift,” the manager added. “Wood, they’re naming the new physical therapy center after Puddlemere--”

Oliver smiled and nodded helplessly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants as the speeches started. _Finally_. It was the signal that there was only an hour or so to go of this bloody gala. His father always said whiskey had a strange way of speeding up time, and Oliver wanted to test the theory tonight. 

Potter leaned over again, motioning for Oliver to look up at the makeshift stage in front of them. Oliver sighed, sparing a glance to the front to see Percy standing in those terrific robes. He shouldn’t be allowed to look so good. He raised his hand to wave to him, and even managed a small smile. Percy waved in kind. 

As much as Oliver reckoned he should listen to the remarks, he watched Percy Weasley fidget for upwards of twenty minutes. His mind blank. Oliver noticed the healer’s hands shaking the slightest bit as he flipped through page upon page of his speech before he started all over again. Percy’s lips moved -- stopping when he messed up -- only to repeat the sentence all over. His brows knit in concentration. Oliver wanted to tell Percy how brilliant he was. 

“And our next speaker may be familiar to many players in the audience tonight for his work with broomstick and transportation injuries. The Head of the Department of Artefact Accidents, Healer Percival Weasley!” 

Oliver perked up, finally turning his attention to the stage. It was a beautiful speech. Percy’s face lighting up at the right moments, his smile and laughter near contagious. Oliver found himself laughing throughout, astounded by the sure knowledge of the man at only twenty nine years old. Oliver only knew Quidditch plays and how to win pennant championships -- Percy knew how to save careers and lives.

“As a Healer, my job is to keep you alive. But Quidditch… Quidditch makes you _feel_ alive. It’s what fuels you to get through a day in a way that a reviving spell will never be able to,” Percy said, and Oliver decided his crush was a deep rooted love, admiration, adoration -- whatever you wanted to call it. 

It… it all encapsulated Oliver’s life’s purpose so simply. He clapped as loudly as his hands could allow, catching Percy’s gaze for a split second. The Gala was noticeably moved by the healer’s remarks. Several people were already standing -- the twins hollering at the top of their lungs. The previous Department Head who’d spoken at the last dozen galas hardly captured Percy’s passion for the sport. 

“Before I leave the stage, I have one final announcement. Thanks to the generosity of the League, the Department of Artefact Accidents will be constructing a new physical therapy wing to be named after your championship team, Puddlemere United!”

Oliver stood, thanking magic for keeping his dress pants secured for now. He smiled and waved and cheered with his team. He made sure to give a smug look to Flint nearby. Cameras flashed one after the other. Oliver noticed Percy in the few photos, staying in the background. 

The speech was too good, and Percy looked hotter than everyone in the room the way he radiated confidence. Oliver stood making his way to the St. Mungo’s table finally. Perhaps Oliver needed to take the initiative one more time. He snuck behind Percy giving the man a rough pat on the back. 

“Healer Weasley -- ye’ve been up to plenty of _writing_ lately with a speech like that, aye?”

Percy coughed a few times, spitting the remainder of a tart into a nearby rubbish bin. “Hello Oliver--”

“Not Captain Wood, then,” Oliver followed Percy over to the bar, narrowing his eyes. 

“Red wine -- whatever’s open, thank you,” Percy turned politely to the bartender. “Captain Wood, would you like anything?”

“Aye, scotch,” Oliver nodded. He leaned on the bar, licking his bottom lip. He sighed, “Glad we can have that drink now.”

Percy stole a glance down at his shoes before looking back up to see his wine delivered. “I wanted to have one with you,” he replied, taking a sip. Oliver raised an eyebrow, settling into a small smile. 

“Wayward owl, then? Used all the parchment on writing an excellent speech--”

“You liked my speech?” Percy smiled. Oliver returned the smile, knowing he could regret being a vulnerable idiot later. “Sorry, it… it was partially inspired by you. Dedication to the sport and how… how it’s similar to healing.”

“I should’ve known,” Oliver replied, sipping his drink. “I have a way with words,” he teased. The Gala started to seem well worth its trouble. 

“I don’t have an excuse,” Percy admitted, tugging on the corner of his lip. “I should have written.”

Oliver decided to forgive the healer. “Nae, I’m being a wee bit difficult. Ye threw quite the party,” Oliver motioned to the organized chaos behind him. “Ye have a good reason to ignore a bloke even if the bloke is me.” 

“Ollie, I can’t buy you a drink here on account of the open bar, but I plan to -- even if I have to show up to the bloody Summer Palooza at the joke shop,” Percy smiled. Oliver’s grin widened further to his full smile. 

“What would that even look like?” Oliver chuckled. 

Percy threw his head back in soft laughter. “I would have pockets full of dittany -- probably a Mediwizard kit.”

Oliver nodded, “More broken bones and bloody noses than a Quidditch game.”

As they detailed past summer palooza injuries, Oliver unconsciously leaned closer to the healer. He had the cologne on. Oliver remembered it from the first time they met. He let his arm brush against him. 

Percy changed subjects, “I wanted to mention, Puddlemere has the best robes tonight.” His eyes peered down at Oliver, half-lidded -- a smile just about to break through. 

Oliver looked down as if he forgot what he was wearing. He blushed, unable to suppress the giddiness and butterflies in his stomach. “Potter’s idea -- mentioned that we looked like some Muggle character, James Bond?” Oliver sighed, raising his arm to tuck under Percy’s elbow. “I wear what people tell me to wear, otherwise I wear my jerseys.”

“I only ever wear my healer’s robes, so I understand--”

“I saw ye wearing colored vests and ties underneath the uniform, Percy. Ye have fashion sense,” Oliver winked. 

They danced around each other with compliments and flirtation. Another round of drinks was ordered, and Oliver couldn’t remember how he had ever been mad at this goofy man. Percy sipped his glass of wine so delicately, closing his eyes to savor the taste before he opened them again. It was a beautiful sight to behold. “Perce,” Oliver spoke to get the man’s attention. 

Now that they were face to face, “Yes, Ollie?” 

“I never thanked ye for saving my career --”

Percy smiled, shaking his head slightly. His hip bone pressed into Oliver’s. Their closeness was nearly as intoxicating as the scotch warming Oliver’s insides. “You’re welcome though I must say it is my job. I am good at my job --”

“Good would be an understatement,” Oliver chuckled. “How did ye become a healer, Perce? If ye don’t mind me asking… I think it’s relevant to the setting?” Oliver motioned to the Gala around him. “Was event planning in the cards?”

Percy answered, “At the World Cup in 1994 -- I apprenticed for a healer. That was when I knew I wanted to become one. Though… I didn’t see myself planning galas.”

“Bulgaria versus Ireland -- when Krum caught the snitch and Ireland won -- _that World Cup_?” Oliver asked, perking up. “Did you watch it too--”

“Yes, of course -- it was an excellent match,” Percy nodded, keeping his arm pressed into Oliver’s. “Krum got ahead of himself.”

“Before ye were out of Hogwarts?” Oliver added, smiling wider. He tried to restrain himself from jabbering on about the legendary cup. Then again, all World Cups were legendary to Oliver Wood.

Percy broke away for a moment, waving to some nobody leaving the room. Oliver frowned, glancing at the disappearing crowd. This night was far from over, as far as he was concerned. Percy finally turned back, but didn’t return to the same physical closeness they’d been enjoying. Oliver needed to fix that.

Percy chuckled softly, “I didn’t conduct any healing or have contact with the players themselves -- Merely supervised a Healer at work.”

It didn’t matter to Oliver if Percy healed anyone. Attending as an apprentice during the biggest event of the Wizarding World was bloody impressive. For a moment, Oliver found himself even more attracted to Percy’s work ethic rather than physical aesthetics. 

“And that’s when ye fell in love with Quidditch injuries?” Oliver asked. 

“I suppose, yes,” Percy nodded, taking a longer sip of his wine. “I imagine you became invested in your work at a young age?” 

Oliver nodded a bit hard before he restrained his neck from bobbing up and down even more. “Aye! My father, Malcolm, makes brooms for Nimbus,” Oliver started. “He’s a bloody brilliant maker. We used to make them together when I was a bairn. Actually--” he paused, leaning in closer. “He made my broom that I play on.”

Percy nodded along, “Really? That’s incredible. I only ever owned cleansweeps -- I have one tucked away in my cupboard.”

“Cleansweep is a steady broom. Carried Gryffindor to three cups thanks to yer brothers,” Oliver said. “I helped him make brooms. I hated walking only ever wanted to fly -- ever since I played. I was in the little leagues they do for children. Then the second year, I made it on the team.”

“When the bludger hit your head?” Percy asked, frowning. 

“Ye remember? Good memory,” Oliver chuckled. He rubbed the side of his head. “Still have a scar from where it split -- lots of blood.”

“I remember that match clearly. It isn’t every day the first game you see at Hogwarts ends five minutes early because a player nearly died,” Percy mused, looking over his glass at Oliver. He looked at Oliver’s scalp. “I noticed that before--”

Oliver shrugged, “I’m sure ye have scars too.”

“Not as many as you, I am sure, Ollie,” Percy teased, brushing his hand over Oliver’s resting on the bar. Oliver replied in kind. Oliver wanted to see whatever scars Percy referred to instantly. He tugged at his collar feeling the heat pick up. 

Conversation felt constant and easy -- every bit effortless. Oliver couldn’t stop laughing at Percy’s anecdotes and stories. Oliver asked how Percy’s week had been going other than the large annual gala. 

“I started reading a new medical journal,” Percy said.

“What was the medical journal about?” Oliver encouraged, finishing his whiskey and daring just one more. His cheeks were rosy now, and his head tingled the perfect amount. _Tell him how beautiful he looks tonight._ Oliver’s mind demanded it. “Yer stunning.”

The healer smiled and blushed, “Had enough to drink?”

“Nae, I’m alright -- the journal?”

“Oh yes,” Percy nodded. He shifted to sit down, maintaining their close proximity. Oliver rested his cheek in his other hand as Percy rambled about rare curses, holiday travelers, and whatever else he added -- Oliver’s mind got fuzzy toward the end bit.

There was a pause of silence. Oliver racked his brain for a response before adding, “Do ye handle curses?” Oliver asked. 

“Yes! Actually --” he paused. “I can’t tell you, but yes I work on curses pertaining to artefacts. Spell damage usually handles direct magic. I specialize in --”  
  


“Magical Transportation,” Oliver finished, their legs now comfortable touching each other. Oliver let his foot rest on Percy’s chair. He remembered everything about Percy now. That he loved Quidditch, looked great in dress robes, and would be incredible to snog. What did his sister do as a healer? He needed to keep Percy talking now. 

“You know a fair bit, Mr. Wood,” Percy mumbled. 

“I started reading a book on Quidditch’s relationship to colonialism among Muggles,” Oliver offered, unsure if that would interest the healer. If he liked Quidditch, then it just might work. “Especially in the -- err -- the British Dominions? I can’t remember much of British colonialism.”

“Oh, that’s fascinating,” Percy said. His eyes looked over the horn-rimmed glasses that Oliver wished he could push up. Percy did it only seconds later. The giddiness returned. “I vaguely recall the United States only joining the Cup in the 1800s.”

Their hands still rested right next to one another. “Right. They didn’t qualify for some time. The Wizarding standards for recognizing governing bodies is different from the Muggle one’s -- if ye are interested I could let ye --”

“Borrow it?” Percy asked.

“Of course… might need yer address for that--”

“ _Confidential_ ,” Percy purred back, tsking under his breath. 

“Oh _is it?_ ” Oliver whispered, leaning closer. He raised his chin ever so slightly noticing how pink Percy’s lips had become from the red wine. “Even for me…” Right as the moment presented itself for Oliver to steal a kiss -- a voice cut into their very _private_ and very _important_ conversation.

“Captain Wood?”

_Bugger off_. Oliver turned away from Percy, biting his lip. The clink of a new glass sounded. He nodded to the bartender. Oliver looked toward his unwelcomed greeter. His eyes immediately honed in on the press pin on the man’s robes. “Aye, how can I help ye?” he spoke finally, stealing a glance at Percy who gave a polite nod, struggling to hide a laugh behind his hand. Oliver would make him pay for that. 

“My name is Roger Davies, one of the lead photographers for Witch’s Weekly -- I reached out to you recently about a photoshoot. It would have been directly after the match --”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. Why would the press bother him at a charity gala? Was that acceptable now? Oliver tried to keep his smile polite and his response curt, “I did not I’m afraid -- if you’ll excuse me --”

“It was on embossed paper,” Roger frowned. “And we had it sent express--”

“Maybe my team intercepted it,” Oliver shrugged, having no recollection of such a letter. Whether that was the alcohol or Oliver’s general distaste for photoshoots, he wasn’t sure. He had been focusing on Percy’s letter delivery. “No way to be sure.”

“Your manager actually told me to speak with you directly,” Roger answered, turning to the Puddlemere table where some of his teammates remained. 

Oliver groaned. His manager was going to be the death of him. There was without a doubt going to be a _long_ conversation about answering the press next time he saw the man. Captain be damned. “Aye, I’ll… I’ll look into it,” Oliver offered a hand. He wanted the photographer to leave now. Oliver couldn’t lose Percy because of a cock-blocking Witch’s Weekly employee. “If ye dinnae mind, I was talking to Percy here--”

A blonde woman sauntered over, latching onto the photographer’s arm. Good, maybe she’d take care of him and he’d finally be alone with Percy again. The woman smiled toward Oliver before turning her gaze to the man. “Roger, darling, could you order me another drink? You have _excellent_ taste.”

Roger and his lady could take their drinking to the other side of the bar. Oliver was here _first_. 

“Of course, Penny. Let me introduce you to Oliver Wood. Mr. Wood, this is Penelope Clearwater.” 

The conversation was hardly memorable as Oliver exchanged the usual pleasantries. Fortunately, the bloke stopped talking about Witch’s Weekly. He nodded his head to something though he wanted to turn back to Percy soon. He hated to think about it, but he hardly cared about a photographer’s girlfriend. 

“Percy Weasley,” the blonde woman smiled. “It’s been so long -- have you been properly introduced to my fiancé, Roger?”

Ah the fiancée of the photographer-- of course Percy knew who she was. Oliver had a feeling Percy knew every single person at this event and then some. He seemed like the kind of person to do the research. The Quidditch community was rather tight knit. 

“Your--” Percy began, Oliver stole a quick glance noticing Percy’s posture improving dramatically. 

“Percy?” Roger looked between the pair. “Oh, your old mate Percy? The Head Boy--”

“Yes,” Percy spoke, Oliver straining to hear. It was almost like a dementor had flown into the room, the air growing frigid around them. Nobody else seemed to notice.

“How have you been, Percy?” Penelope asked. “It’s been a while.”

“Eighteen months,” Percy answered a bit too quickly.

Oliver supposed he kept track of the last time he saw friends. He never counted how many months. However, Percy was a meticulous individual. 

“Oh, if it’s been that long, Penelope hasn’t told you the good news,” Roger grinned. “We got engaged -- no wonder you were so quiet, must have been caught off guard.”

“Congratulations,” Oliver managed. His happy buzz dissipated. Penelope and Percy were friends then? He tried to see if Percy actually wanted to talk to her. They both looked uncomfortable. 

“Thanks, our third anniversary is coming up,” Roger nodded. “Still planning the wedding--”

Oliver zoned out for a moment. He stole a few glances at Percy who stared at Penelope. He didn’t look thrilled to see an old friend. Oliver figured this must be someone from Hogwarts. He hardly knew either person talking to them. He always stuck to the Quidditch team and his roommates. 

“So you’re… interim department head?” Penelope asked.

“No, I’m… I’m Department Head,” Percy cleared his throat. 

“Youngest in centuries, right, Perce?” Oliver interrupted, elbowing Percy gently. “This bloke’s a big deal, more impressive than any of us.”

“Surely, that can’t be true, you’re _Oliver Wood_ ,” Roger laughed. 

“Oh, is Oliver a patient of yours, Percy?” 

_Not anymore_. Oliver scrunched his nose. If anything it was a moment of truth, had Oliver left the professional sphere of Percy’s life… into the personal one?

“He’s my boyfriend,” Percy blurted out.

Instinctively, Oliver nodded and wrapped his arm around Percy, “Aye, going on a year now.” He clinked his glass of scotch with Percy’s wine glass. This woman certainly asked personal questions. Hang on, had Percy said--

“Oh,” she pursed her lips. 

Roger cut in, “Really? I thought I read in Witch’s Weekly’s last profile--”

“Ollie prefers to keep his personal life… _personal_ ,” Percy interrupted, placing his arm around Oliver’s waist and snuggling into his side. Oliver smiled resting his cheek on Percy’s shoulder for a moment. 

“Mhm,” Oliver hummed. It was time to end the conversation. Oliver wanted to take Percy to a hidden corner and snog him. Oliver earned this. “Again, so nice to meet both of you -- I’ll look into that letter, Roger.”

As soon as Roger agreed, _the idiot_ , the woman Percy knew spoke up, “Percy, you never told me you were interested in men--”

“It didn’t seem relevant when I was in love with a woman,” Percy replied, his brows furrowed in anger. “Besides, _Penelope_ , you never told me you were interested in Roger.”

So Percy was interested in blokes! Oliver perked up at the news unable to stop himself from nuzzling closer to Percy. He smelled so nice. The buzz he had earlier began to take over his senses again. This might be perfect. Percy looked so cute when he was angry, didn’t he?

“Yes, well,” Penelope managed to smile again. “Have a good night, both of you. Bye, Percival. Oliver.”

After a minute of silence, Oliver stepped away from Percy’s side to get in front of him. Right, he just lied that they were a couple. That had to be addressed.“Percy--” Oliver said quietly, looking around the room and reaching towards Percy’s shoulder. 

Percy shook his head, moving away. “Thank you….thank you for covering there, I owe you,” Percy mumbled. “I’m sorry--”

“Ye’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Oliver smiled reassuringly. As Oliver took in Percy’s expression again, he looked to be on the brink of tears. Oliver furrowed his brows, “Ye look upset, mate, I could get yer sister or the twins--”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Percy breathed.

Percy stepped away again, but his foot caught on the ground. Oliver stepped forward knowing full well Percy was not fine. He didn’t look fine. 

“Let me walk ye out,” Oliver wrapped his arm back around Percy’s shoulders. Percy was shaking underneath him. “Aye?”

They needed to find a private area. Percy clearly needed to get something off his chest or to get away from the prying eyes of Quidditch players and St. Mungo’s employees -- and blood thirsty press members. He aimed for a corridor away from the main atrium. He found a storage room, holding the door open for Percy. The lighting was dim. 

Oliver grabbed a seat at the dusty spare desk. His nose tickled with the urge to sneeze, but he managed to hold it in. He saw how taut Percy’s muscles were in the dark. He reached to pat Percy’s back. The man was holding his breath so tightly. “Come on, ye’ve got to breathe,” he whispered, trying to soothe Percy’s nerves. 

“I’m fine,” Percy answered. He took shallow breaths. Then he moved to bury his face into his hands turning away from Oliver. 

Oliver used his dress robes sleeve to brush the dust off. He moved closer to Percy. He wanted to ask what happened. They were having a perfectly good conversation before Roger came over. Percy didn’t seem like the type to have social anxiety, he’d been talking to people all night. “Yer sure yer fine? I can get water, or food, or yer siblings--”

“No,” Percy whispered, raising his voice to speak. “God, I don’t want to see any of them right now, fuck. This is a _fucking_ nightmare. Again, I’m so sorry -- you should go back to the party. Enjoy yourself, I’ll… I can’t head home, I don’t know, I’ll calm down and--” Percy was clearly not talking to Oliver now. Who were these people?

“I’ve had enough for the night,” Oliver replied. He wanted to leave the Gala since it started. Percy made it worthwhile. “Do… do ye want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Percy paused. 

“Alright,” Oliver nodded, patting Percy’s back again. “I won’t tell anyone, ye ken. Not yer siblings--”

Percy muttered something that Oliver didn’t quite hear. “Penelope and I were engaged for a time. Until she decided we were… no longer engaged,” Percy said.

Ah.

“Eighteen months ago, to be exact,” Percy added, biting his lip and looking down. 

The details of the conversation began to come back to Oliver. That Roger bloke had said what, a third anniversary? Oliver could do the math. 

He continued to rub Percy’s back. His breathing wasn’t quite even. Oliver tried to think of his next response. The blond woman, Penelope, cheated on Percy Weasley? That didn’t quite add up for Oliver. Who would cheat? And who would cheat on one of the most successful wizards Oliver ever met?

“That’s a… a shit thing to happen, aye,” Oliver said. “Especially at something like this, big event and all.” 

“I… didn’t know… that she was seeing someone else back then,” Percy shook his head slowly. “I suppose… it’s silly to be upset about that now, after everything…” 

Oliver watched the minimal light catch Percy’s cheek noticing the tears coming down. Oliver reacted on instinct pulling him into a hug. “Don’t make excuses for her, Perce. Ye’ll… ye’ll find someone better. We’re young, aren’t we?” 

Were they young? Oliver wanted Percy to find someone better, and by someone he meant himself. He felt nauseous knowing Percy was in pain. Percy sniffled and mumbled again. Oliver turned his head to get a better listen. 

“Not according to the Prophet, Mr. Wood.”

“Oi, yer a little shit aren’t ye,” Oliver gasped. He pulled back, keeping his hands on Percy’s shoulders. “And I’m trying tae be nice and--”

“I’m sorry,” Percy laughed, wiping his face on his sleeve. “You set yourself up, I’m so sorry, really--”

Percy continued to give a soft laugh. It melted Oliver. He smiled at Percy unable to stop the butterflies coming back in full force. “Nae, I’m glad yer laughing. Ye have such a nice laugh,” Oliver pushed their shoulders together. 

As Percy thanked him, Oliver insisted on staying on Percy’s behalf. It was the right thing to do all things considered -- they were _boyfriends_ … to Penelope at least. They left the storage closet in better spirits. 

“I… I should make sure I’m not needed, I’ll head home after that. Have a nice night--”

“Nae, I can wait,” Oliver smiled. Percy hesitated but nodded, glancing back at him as he walked away. Oliver headed to the bar for his last glass of scotch (he wanted to think). 

Most of the people from the gala were heading out now. Oliver intermingled with other Quidditch players. He talked to a few other captains, accepting their congratulations with a smile. The heavy weight on his shoulders from Percy’s lack of writing disappeared. He apologized to his manager who did give him a lot of shite for ignoring the press. 

“That’s how we get sponsors, Wood--”

“Aye, aye, I’ll give into his demands,” Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, using Potter and Ginny as an excuse to escape. 

Potter grinned, “Heading out?”

“Nae…” Oliver looked across the room at Percy talking to his brother. He turned away to look at his shoes then at the engaged couple. “I wanted to stay. I should be the last to leave -- captain aye?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, “Are you--”

“Wood,” Potter chuckled. “Are you… waiting for a bloke?”

“Oh go home,” Oliver grumbled, waving the laughing couple away. Potter shoved his shoulder playfully. 

“We’ll go to _Gin_ ’s just to be safe--”

“Bugger off!” Oliver groaned, rubbing his face. 

As soon as Percy left his conversation with a twin and Potter was out of sight, Oliver bounded over ignoring his aching feet (new dress shoes were such a bother). “Ready to head out, Percy?” 

“You’re very kind, you know,” Percy smiled.

“Perce, it’s no trouble. What are _boyfriends_ for?” Oliver chuckled, wrapping his arm around Percy’s. He nestled close trying to play his role to completion. Oliver dared himself to imagine it was real. He needed this to continue. It couldn’t end after this. Could they go get drinks? Percy looked like he hadn’t eaten, and Oliver wouldn’t mind going out a little longer. They were dressed up after all...

Percy suddenly tugged him into a side corridor away from the exiting guests. Oliver stumbled, but he followed figuring they were running away from someone Percy didn’t want to see. _Penelope_. 

“Can she see us?” Oliver whispered, leaning his cheek into Percy’s chest. He bowed his head to look at the oxfords on Percy’s feet. This bloke really dressed well. 

Percy didn’t speak. Oliver looked up to peer into Percy’s blue eyes. They were so close again. The warmth radiated off Percy’s body. His breath tickled Oliver’s nose. Was Percy okay? Oliver decided drinks weren’t necessary. Perhaps it was best to get him back to his flat -- wherever that was. His hand rested on the back of Percy’s tricep. Penelope must have walked away by now, they could leave. Fuck, this night had really tumbled off of its broomstick. He’d have to come up with an amazing date invitation to set whatever this was back on track.

Percy broke away from the trance, gripping onto the lapels of Oliver’s robes. The Quidditch player furrowed his brows and looked down at Percy’s hands, which were gripping so tightly that the knuckles were white.. Before he could say anything, Oliver felt his back shove up against the wall, his mouth opening as Percy placed a bent leg between his legs. His eyes glanced to the side, seeing that one of Percy’s hands was now beside his head. As Percy’s neck bent, Oliver closed his eyes feeling Percy’s lips roughly meet his. Oliver grunted, opening his eyes the slightest to confirm -- yes that was Percy -- yes they were kissing… what?

Instantly, Percy pulled back opening his mouth, “I’m--”

“No,” Oliver murmured, not wanting it to end. He wrapped his arm around Percy’s waist. He pulled the man back kissing him again. Oliver held him there and Percy relaxed underneath him. They needed this. Oliver wanted this all evening, and damn it he was going to take it. Was this taking advantage of an emotionally compromised man? 

Percy initiated first!

As they kissed deeper and deeper, Oliver let his tongue run across Percy’s lower lip. Percy tasted like red wine, and it was almost as intoxicating as a drink. Percy’s hand ran across Oliver’s chest. Oliver let his hand slide lower to rest on Percy’s lower back. His other hand raked through Percy’s gelled hair. 

For those minutes, they hardly took the opportunity to breathe. Oliver took in what air he could through his nose. He tugged and tugged on Percy’s well kept hair. Oliver wanted to mess it up in any way he could. This was bloody brilliant. Nearly as good as Oliver imagined in his wildest dreams. Percy kept leaning into him, pressing him harder and harder into the wall. 

Percy combed through Oliver’s hair, messing it up too. Oliver preferred it natural anyway. If they pulled back, Oliver was sure their dress robes were out of place and their hair stood in all directions. Percy’s mouth moved away from Oliver’s lips. Oliver whined softly, but Percy kissed his cheek then his jaw then--

Percy stumbled backwards. Oliver panted trying to gather what little bearings he had after the amount of scotch he drank. He blinked once, twice, three times seeing Percy in absolute disarray -- a beautiful mess. Oliver wondered if that really happened as he raised his hand to brush across his sensitive, swollen lips. Oliver looked down at his hand before he looked up at Percy. 

“I’m sorry,” Percy breathed, rapidly fixing his appearance with little success. 

Oliver moved away from the wall, catching Percy’s arm. He wanted to smooth the man’s hair -- to readjust his glasses for him. “Percy—”

“I need to go,” Percy exclaimed, pivoting quickly and bounding down the corridor. 

Leaning against the wall, Oliver felt an array of emotions -- betrayal, rejection, pleasure, happiness, anger -- he pressed the palms of his hands to his forehead. “What the fuck,” Oliver whispered, banging the back of his head on the wall. This was getting ridiculous. “He’ll write,” he spoke to himself. 

Would he? Oliver doubted being used as a boyfriend, being kissed for… five? Ten minutes? Oliver looked at his watch to confirm the snogging ust have lasted at the very least nine minutes. He groaned. 

As Oliver walked out of the corridor toward a Floo, his jaw set in frustration. Percy left no address to write to -- typical. Potter might be right. Move on. The twins offered to set him up with someone else. Good enough. He tried to push how sweet Percy tasted when he collapsed on his bed still dressed in his robes. Oliver didn’t bother to clean up, falling asleep buzzed and emotional. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for continuing to read! I hope this lifts up some spirits in the crazy world that we are living in. We appreciate you continuing to follow our little series. 
> 
> (Also, isn't Percy the /worst/? -- but we love him)


	5. Two Months of Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happened to being a professional?” Oliver murmured. His feet brought him closer to Percy, closing the gap. Percy had to angle his head again to look down at Oliver. Oliver had a soft spot for taller blokes. He could reach out. He could grab the front of Percy’s jumper and snog him senseless. But, he resisted. Surprise snogging got Percy and Oliver into misunderstandings.
> 
> “I--” Percy paused for almost too long. “I’m not sure. You… you make being a professional very difficult, Ollie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your patience has paid off. Congratulations. You will finally be given relief in this chapter. 
> 
> Oh also, there's smut at the end. If you aren't interested in that sort of ~thing~, you can stop around where Oliver and Percy are rather obviously about to jump one another. Otherwise read to your hearts content!

_ Smack. _

Oliver stirred letting out a soft moan. He twisted in his bed sheets still dressed in last night’s attire. His tie choked at his neck. His head pounded in synchronization with his heart. As he dared to crack his eyes open to the morning light, he saw Potter and Ginny looming over his bed. On his torso laid a copy of the Daily Prophet. He didn’t need to read it when -- he looked at his clock -- it was 5:30 a.m. 

The light hurt and he snapped his eyes shut, turning away from the bedroom intruders.  _ Go away _ . He moaned when his stomach lurched forward. He heaved for the briefest moment. Just as quickly he reigned in his intestines. Did they have any hangover brews left after the final? Potter needed three to stop vomiting -- Ginny took two.

“Wood.”

“This is the part of my nightmare where ye get the fuck out of my room,” Oliver growled back, grabbing his pillow to shove it over his face. Anything to block out the sickening sun. Ginny and Potter dared to  _ breathe _ in his safety bubble. Perhaps they forgot basic instructions or didn’t hear him. “So get the fuck out.”

“Well, I’m curious--”

“Talk tae me at a decent hour,  _ Potter _ .”

“I wanted to make sure Percy Weasley wasn’t in your bed-- the Prophet had--”

Oliver shot up. He grabbed the paper seeing an image of him and Percy cozied up at the Gala bar. Immediately, he collapsed backwards onto his pillows. “We were talking.”

“Did you read all of it? Have you been hiding a year long relationship with my brother, Oliver?” Ginny teased, hands resting on her hips. 

“Yer holiday--”

“Flight takes off in four hours. Don’t worry about us. Let’s worry about why you’re still in dress robes and look hungover-- there’s even vomit in your rubbish--”

Rough night then. Oliver rubbed his eyes noticing how they stung from the pressure. He sat up, skimming the article quickly. It made sure to compliment Potter, somehow, despite the Golden Boy not even being relevant to the fabricated gossip column. Who spread the news? Either Penelope or Roger, the ditzy Witch’s Weekly photographer spoke out. Skeeter wrote the article. He wondered if he could sue her for libel yet. “Oliver Wood is still riding broomsticks…” Oliver winced at the comment. He should have been used to it.

No doubt he would be getting a letter from the Coach and Manager in a few hours. He swung his legs out of bed, halting when he came close to blacking out. He swayed for a second before he buckled down again. Right, still hungover. 

His tongue passed over his bottom lip noticing it slightly swollen. A cut on the inside of his mouth was a cruel reminder of his rejection. Naturally, he ignored Potter and Ginny whining behind him as he trudged to the Potion’s Cabinet. Once he threw back the concoction for his headache, he grabbed a glass of water. 

“Oliver--”

“Wood--”

“Percy, he’s a nice person! You two would work really well together. Hard working--”

“Mate, you could’ve said you were still interested. Ginny would’ve set something up!”

“How long has this really been going? Percy’s terrible at hiding relationships.”

Oliver let their words roll off his back. With his third glass of water settling into his stomach, he shuffled into the shared bathroom. He slammed the door and locked it for good measure as the harpies (well only  _ one _ was a Harpy, but they certainly were unpleasant) cackled at him. He turned the shower to its hottest setting. 

Potter knocked hard on the door, “Wood, we aren’t leaving until you say something.”

Ginny continued teasing him, “Seriously, I wouldn’t sweat it. I can even put in a good word if you two were actually hitting it off -- I remember the pain potion fiasco -- Percy probably can’t  _ resist  _ that arse of yours!”

“Bugger off!” Oliver snapped, banging his head against the glass door. “It doesn’t matter. Forget about the  _ bloody _ article.”

There was a beat of silence. A moment where Oliver truly believed he was finally alone to process his muddled feelings of betrayal. He peeled his ill fitting robes off. It was a relief to get out of last night’s… dirty laundry. He stole a look in the mirror. His eyes bloodshot, his torso bloated from the scotch. Perhaps he needed two or three showers today -- to get the phantom feeling of  _ his _ hands off of him. 

“What happened?” Potter spoke. “Something happened. You’re in a terrible mood, mate.”

“I said go away.”

As they continued to heckle him for the next five minutes, Oliver made a sound akin to a caged animal. “We flirted. We drank. He snogged me! He took advantage of me and snogged me for  _ ten minutes  _ then he buggered off! I’m not fucking interested, okay?  _ Bugger off _ ,” he cried out, hating the way his lip trembled. Tears stung his dried, red eyes.

It’s the hangover. It’s the hangover. 

Oliver stumbled underneath his scalding showerhead allowing the heat to wash over him. Then the bathroom door opened. “What do ye--”

“Percy didn’t mean it that way, Oliver. I promise. He’s a really good bloke--” Ginny continued to ramble out an apology on Percy’s behalf. Oliver half listened, not caring to believe any of it. It stung. It stung more than his past break ups. It hurt to actually care for  _ once _ , and Oliver should’ve known it wouldn’t work out. Blokes didn’t want him. He’d die alone.

He rested his forehead against the wall’s tile. Ginny and Potter’s shadow sat in front of the sink. “I dinnae care. Please. Leave me alone. I-- I need tae be  _ alone _ .”

“Are you going to drown yourself in the shower?”

“Whether I do it now or later, it won’t matter,” Oliver coughed, holding his emotions in tight. “Enjoy yer holiday. Send photos aye?”

“Alright…” Potter spoke, ushering Ginny out. “I’ll write. Please… don’t drown yourself okay?”

“I’ve handled rejection before Potter,” Oliver snapped, squeezing his fists tightly. Finally left alone, he sunk down into the tub. The water sprinkled over his body as he laid there, numb, unmoving until the shower ran ice cold.

***

Oliver explained himself to his coach and to the manager first. They understood -- Oliver tended to get the short end of the stick when it came to press attention. He went on a run and arrived at his flat to take yet another shower this time he actually bothered to use soap. His nails scraped at his skin until it was raw red. He nearly incinerated his robes when he noticed the distinct smell of a certain  _ cologne _ .

Instead he kept them on his dresser. He was going to move on, but every now and then he found himself thinking about how  _ nice he -- _ no, no. Oliver beat his palms into his forehead as if to knock the intrusive thoughts away. His eyes scanned the article over and over noticing how the moving photograph showed Oliver’s hand brushing across the other’s back. 

Should he storm St. Mungo’s? Demand to be seen by the Head of Artefact Accidents immediately? Demand an apology -- no. Oliver knew that would… it would hurt him. Neither of them needed to confirm the rumor of a year long relationship. With no address, Oliver read over old Puddlemere strategies until the memory of his night melted away. 

Some called it avoidance. Oliver called it preservation. He ran over play after play in the new season’s book. He adjusted and adjusted -- adapted plays as old as the 1800s if he deemed them good enough. When his mind wandered to -- his lips were so soft and his hands delicate-- he quickly thought of the most gruesome Quidditch injuries he ever had -- he was such a good healer, why couldn’t he heal every broken bone, every injury -- Oliver heard something crash into his living room. 

A ruddy owl collapsed onto the carpet. Pulled away from his forsaken thoughts, Oliver sighed, bending down to collect his mail. The bird recovered and began to peck at Oliver’s fingers. “Excuse me,” he sighed. Dutifully, the owl extended its leg for Oliver to take the letter attached. 

_ To Oliver Wood, _

_ This is Hermes. He shouldn’t nip for long, give him whatever you have and he’ll stop. Apologies for leaving so abruptly last night. I’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, around 5 p.m. I’d like to talk to you, but I understand if you’d rather not. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Percy Weasley _

“Oh,” Oliver mumbled, falling onto his arse. He reread the letter upward of twenty times. He got the owl something to eat as one his fingers started to bleed. Meet tonight? Apologize for leaving so abruptly? Well at least He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bothered to write a letter at all. Oliver resolved to never speak to him again.

Yet.

Oliver shook the thought. “I shouldn’t…” he sighed, going to rip the letter. He hesitated feeling the grooves and divots from the quill tip. He had been looking for an address -- there was the return right at the top. He looked down at the cursive name, the London street name. “That kiss was something--” he groaned, throwing the parchment onto the table. 

Hermes gave a soft hoot digging his claws into Oliver’s carpet. “Oi! That’s expensive,” he chastised. Was he really yelling at owls now? He noticed Hedwig glaring at him from her cage. At least Quaffle, Oliver’s darling owl, had the same decency as his owner. Hedwig and Hermes lacked restraint -- like their owners. “I don’t want tae write back. Go away.”

Hermes ripped another chunk of the carpet, putting it into his beak. “Don’t kill yerself!” Oliver exclaimed, wrenching the fabric out of the bird’s mouth. 

As Oliver played referee for three owls, he let his mind drift to the parchment. Two of which had pooped unceremoniously on the floor (guess the two). Five at the Leaky Cauldron -- that was a Floo ride away. Perhaps after getting his apology and rejection, Oliver could have another few drinks alone. But, he needed to have a boundary. If he let the individual in question apologize to him, then was Oliver being too nice? Oliver should prepare his own statement. 

He grabbed a bit of parchment in the heat of the moment. He scrawled his response down without further thought, handing it to Hermes. Of course Percy had named his bird Hermes -- an intelligent prat like that couldn’t go with a simple name like Quaffle.

“Now go away,” he ordered. Hermes nearly collapsed onto the floor again, but he managed to get up and over the windowsill. The bird flew out of Oliver’s life. Likely the last time he saw the sadistic creature. 

The day went painstakingly slow. Oliver cleaned his owl pecking wounds with the smidge of dittany left in the cabinet. Typical. Potter forgot to go to the pharmacy before he fucked off to the Azores. 

Oliver hazarded a look at the clock on the wall. He remained unmoving as 4:15 p.m. approached. Oliver couldn’t remember what he wrote down as his response when he sent Hermes away. He glanced at the expensive scotch resting by the sink. 

When five minutes passed, Oliver stood up. He grabbed his sunglasses, he grabbed his Floo powder and he resolved to consult someone else on his tragic love life.

***

A  _ ding _ rang over Oliver’s head as he ducked into the building. He scanned his eyes over the slightly crowded shop, approaching his consultant of sorts at the counter. He took a deep breath before he spoke, “Weasley?”

“Wood! Georgie -- get over here! Wood, are you here as a  _ customer _ or  _ friend _ today? I knew you’d find a fascination with our fireworks some day,” Fred grinned.

“Want tae have that drink now?” Oliver sighed, glancing over at the Quidditch posters hanging in the corner. Merlin forbid someone recognize him right now. He didn’t have time. Especially if -- no, no, he didn’t want to think about it. He kept his head down, looking at Fred over the brim of his sunglasses. “I need tae… can ye get a drink?”

“Well I can make someone take over, give me a second, and mate -- you look awful, no offense,” Fred laughed, turning away. 

The twins wrapped an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. They ended up at the Leaky Cauldron. Oliver glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes to make his final decision. “I have a hypothetical scenario.”

They sat at a booth in the corner. Oliver tossed his sunglasses to the table top. “Say someone clearly takes advantage of ye --”

Fred snorted, “Is this about  _ Percy _ ?”

Oliver had somewhat hoped the twins hadn’t read the Prophet. Hell, they’d never picked up a book when they were in school together. Then again, it was  _ their  _ brother who had been featured in the gossip column -- the gossip column was probably all the twins did read. 

“That  _ someone _ doesn’t need tae be named,” Oliver answered, crossing his arms. “Say this person asked ye out after ye win a Quidditch Cup --”

“Percy? This sounds an awful lot like him,” George nodded, nudging Fred.

“They ask ye to drinks, they don’t write. They apologize for it, and ye find yerself flirting and… enjoying their company. Then, their ex-fiancée ruins everything. Ye lie for the person’s sake so they aren’t embarrassed. Next thing ye know, yer pressed up against the wall of the Ministry Atrium with--”

“This isn’t a very good hypothetical, Wood,” Fred laughed, sipping his beer. “Mate, we talked to Percy this morning. What do you want us to say?”

George copied Fred’s movements. “We wanted to set you two up before he-- well he acted like himself.” George paused, holding his watch up to the light. Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the grand gesture. “Awfully close to five isn’t it?”

“Do ye know anything about what he's going tae say? I… I don’t need his apology,” Oliver sighed, slumping his shoulders. He needed something else. He couldn’t chase something that wasn’t real. 

“Stay, you should stay. You won’t regret it, mate. Trust me,” Fred winked.

“I--”

Fred and George shook their heads, winking at Oliver as they threw galleons onto the table. “Trust us,” they repeated, leaving Oliver with the shittiest advice he’d ever been given. 

“Percy’s a prat, but he means well,” George said in parting. 

Useless. Utterly useless. Oliver watched the twins leave the pub as quickly as they came. He nodded to the barmaid when she grabbed the empties off the table. He shook his head to a drink.  _ Five minutes _ . Oliver’s leg shook faster and faster under the table. He could leave. He could leave and never deal with this again. Throw himself into Quidditch like he always has. 

“Hello Oliver,” a voice spoke softly. “May I sit down?”

Can’t leave now. He should have known Percy would arrive early. Oliver peeled his gaze away from the window to look at Percy. He hated how the giddy feeling came back. His stomach flipped and flopped. Oliver replied in the affirmative as he nodded his head to look back to the table. Rather than hating Percy, Oliver’s thoughts were filled with the navy slacks -- the grey waistcoat that hugged Percy  _ just right _ . 

“I… you got my letter?” Percy asked. “Sorry, I--”

“Yer bird is quite old,” Oliver replied, flexing his fingers at the memory of being pecked. He almost commented about Percy’s bird near biting his hand off. Or even how the ruddy bird ripped up his carpet then proceeded to shite on his floor. But he resolved to drop it. Oliver didn’t feel like being friendly today. 

“I don’t have the heart to retire him,” Percy chuckled.  _ Why did he sound so nice? _ Oliver shut his eyes momentarily, opening them to look at Percy. “Oliver, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off last night.”

“Aye,” Oliver answered. His eyelids hung heavily over his eyes. 

There was a silence that settled over them. Oliver dared to look at Percy. He waited for the next rejection, excuse to leave, reason for Percy to up and run away. 

Percy kept shifting in the booth. “Oliver… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I regretted it immediately, and I’m ashamed of my behavior -- it was  _ abhorrent _ and--” Oliver listened to Percy ramble for a while about how wrong the kiss was. “I violated you and--”

“Perce,” Oliver cut in, holding up his hand. Would he accept the apology? Part of him screamed and cried out that Oliver needed to yell at Percy. To yell at him for making Oliver feel so shitty. That wasn’t really his style. He sighed, looking down at his lap before meeting Percy’s eyes. It was easier to forgive. “I forgive ye. Alright?” 

As the barmaid came over, Percy insisted upon buying both of them drinks. “I told you I would buy you a drink,” he smiled to Oliver, looking away when Oliver didn’t smile back. 

Oliver spoke up when the silence became too much. He liked silence, but not this kind. “Percy, can ye -- can ye explain what happened? I dinnae mind that… that ye kissed me. I dinnae mind the flirting. I’ve been coming onto ye for -- two months?”

Percy nodded thoughtfully, sipping his pinot noir.  _ It would stain his lips red again, wouldn’t it? _ Oliver pushed away the thought. Not the time. “I… I sort of explained what happened with Penelope.”

Oliver didn’t want to blame the alcohol, but he remembered that Percy was hardly forthcoming with information, especially in a  _ professional _ setting.

“We dated in school, broke up -- mutually. Err… I dated a few other people but then Penelope again. We got engaged after a few years,” Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I was so distracted by the thought of being married that I didn’t realize what was happening. I learned last night that well -- she did actually cheat on me. For at least a year, maybe… maybe more? I let my emotions get the best of me. You paid the consequence, I suppose.” 

Then Oliver softened instinctually. He couldn’t find the same fire in his soul churning earlier. Percy didn’t answer the question -- why did he kiss Oliver? -- but Oliver decided it must have actually been mostly driven by Penelope, to make Penelope jealous. “Well, let’s have our drink then. We deserve it.”

Their apology drink turned into a good chat about the randomest topics they could shoot off to one another. Percy filled most of the silence as Oliver nodded along to his stories about the Weasleys, about his work, and everything in between. He learned more about Percy in that one sitting than he had anywhere else. Arthur Weasley bought a new cat named after a muggle children’s book character, Percy got glasses when he was six years old, Percy was a pescatarian and an avid runner -- Oliver shared when it felt right. 

As Percy re-enacted an argument he’d had with a patient over Floo Powder, Oliver watched Percy hit his wine glass. It spilled into Oliver’s lap soaking into his jeans. Percy clambered out an apology immediately, but Oliver dismissed him. 

“Nae, don’t worry, love,” Oliver shrugged, waving his wand to see if the usual spells got out a red wine stain. Where did that endearment come from? He had only had one drink. 

***

One thing led to another and Oliver found himself strolling the streets of London with Percy Weasley. They laughed at one another’s stories. Oliver remembered how easy it was to be himself around the healer. He remembered  _ why _ it was so hard to simply let go. The twins' advice worked for the most part. Part of him wished he spoke his mind. That he told Percy he couldn’t handle the chasing game. Oliver tried to stay guarded. He firmly planted his hands against his thighs.

Oliver Wood was far from perfect. He was too apologetic. He was too trusting of others. He hardly spoke what was on his mind when it didn’t involve Quidditch. He knew this. He accepted it as a part of him as much as his hair color was brown or he tanned easily in the summer. As they traveled deeper and deeper into muggle London, the heavens opened up above them just as Oliver rambled about Ava, his sister, failing to teach him how to ride a bike.

“Oh!” Percy cried out, looking at the grey sky above him. “We’re going to get soaked--”

Oliver laughed as the cold droplets danced across his skin. “We’ll have tae find somewhere to go--”

“My flat’s not far from here, follow me--”

“Not confidential anymore?” Oliver teased. 

The two ran through the flooding streets. Percy’s white shirt soaked through exposing the pale skin beneath. Oliver noticed how the slacks clung to Percy’s backside. He admired the way Percy’s glasses fogged up and became covered in water droplets. There was little room left for the imagination. Oliver tried to push it all away again. 

They continued to laugh at their miserable state stumbling into the warm building. Oliver followed Percy up the stairs into the flat. Percy made excuses about his untidy living space before he opened the door. 

For a moment, they caught their breaths unable to speak. Percy went over to the sink to wring out his waistcoat. “I took us so far into muggle London that we couldn’t even cast a repellant charm!” he laughed, throwing his clothing down. 

“I like the rain,” Oliver replied, dripping onto the white carpet. He kicked his trainers off waving his wand to get the mud stain out of the carpet. He looked around the  _ confidential _ location noticing the smattering of art Oliver thought only hotels in Paris owned. The overarching monochromatic white shade with black detailings dominated the space. Nothing about it was  _ untidy _ .

It smelled… it smelled like Percy. Oliver resisted the urge to sink into the plush floor and never leave. 

“Would you like a change of clothes, Ollie? I know drying charms never quite do the trick--”

_ Ollie _ . Oliver shivered. He should leave now. He should ask for another drink and take his leave. “Yes, thank ye,” he nodded. “I might -- I might not be yer size --”

“I have a few larger shirts,” Percy assured, sauntering away. Oliver remained at the front door. 

The two voices in his head began to battle against the other.  _ Tell him. Tell him how you feel, Oliver Wood _ . The other voice cut in,  _ Absolutely not -- you’ll scare him away like the rest _ . As Oliver waited and waited, he rubbed his face. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t say how he feels right now. That was a bad idea. 

Percy emerged in the softest looking jumper. His pants hardly hugged his legs. Oliver smiled at the sight noticing Percy’s hair clinging to his forehead. His glasses askew. “Try this,” Percy nodded, handing over a shirt and sweats. Percy Weasley owned sweatpants? “The pants are Charlie’s. I still have a few hand-me-downs,” he grinned. “You can change in--”

Oliver tugged his shirt off without thought. He began to put on the next shirt before he stopped, looking up at Percy. The ginger continued to go on about how lovely company Oliver Wood was. “We should go out again,” Percy rambled. “This was quite nice, I’ve enjoyed myself. This weekend, drinks. I can come to you, you don’t live in London, right?--”

Percy hardly sounded romantic. Oliver’s decision was made as he interrupted Percy midsentece, “I have something tae say.”

“Hm?” Percy blinked, moving his eyes away from Oliver’s chest. “Yes? Go ahead--”

Oliver’s brain shut off as he dropped the dry clothes in front of him. “Percy, I -- I can’t be led on. I spent thirteen years of my life terrified of being gay. When I finally had the balls to ask blokes out, I was too known, too busy, too focused on Quidditch. I--” 

Oliver raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t be led on. If ye aren’t interested in… in… in love, I don’t know if I can just be yer friend. Yer-- yer the closest thing I’ve had tae--  _ that kiss _ . It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t because of yer ex-fiancee. Ye apologized, okay? But,  _ why did ye kiss me _ ? I can’t read yer mind.  _ Please _ .”

He paused, taking another shaky breath, “I don’t go out for a few drinks. I don’t really  _ drink _ . Tell me what this is. Every bloke that’s interested in me only goes out with me for Puddlemere tickets or for a shag. Yer different. I  _ know _ yer different. I need ye to be different--”

Percy stood in front of him with an expression of shock. Oliver hesitated in his speech. He felt the regret immediately.  _ Why didn’t you shut up? _ He looked down at the perfect carpet. The damn owl hadn’t eaten  _ Percy’s  _ carpet. He suppressed the urge to smile at Percy’s unicorn socks. Of course he had those. Percy took a few more steps forward, only an arm’s distance from Oliver. 

“I’ve said it enough times that I’m not sure you’ll believe me,” Percy said softly. “But I’m sorry.”

Oliver knew feeling guilty was ridiculous. He started to backtrack immediately, “I dinnae mean to yell at ye--”

“You should yell at me,” Percy replied. “I haven’t been honest with you -- with anyone, really, including myself.”

Oliver dared to look up again. Percy was so close. So close to just reach out and grab and never let go. His breathing became shallow. His thoughts muddled because he kept staring at Percy’s chapped lips. 

Percy spoke again looking down at him, “I didn’t think you’d come today, Ollie, but I’m so happy you came on a date, I want to do this properly. I’ll make time, it’s worth it--”

“A date?” Oliver opened his mouth to continue. A date? That was a date? Oliver tried to remember their evening. Had Percy flirted without Oliver noticing? It hardly felt romantic to Oliver. Percy wrung his hands and shifted from foot to foot. 

“Yes, a date, long overdue -- no fault of yours of course, all mine there. I don’t want tickets or -- I want to be different,” Percy paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If you’ll let me.”

Oliver missed the wet white button up. He would have ripped it off of Percy’s body. Instead he admired how the blue in Percy’s jumper made his eyes pop even in the dim light. If he just stepped forward...

“What happened to being a professional?” Oliver murmured. His feet brought him closer to Percy, closing the gap. Percy had to angle his head again to look down at Oliver. Oliver had a soft spot for taller blokes. He could reach out. He could grab the front of Percy’s jumper and snog him senseless. But, he resisted. Surprise snogging got Percy and Oliver into misunderstandings.

“I--” Percy paused for almost too long. “I’m not sure. You… you make being a professional very difficult, Ollie.”

Oliver instinctively stepped closer again. Their chests were a centimeter apart. Oliver looked up at Percy. Oliver’s lips parted to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything other than ‘ _ kiss me please right now’ _ . He reached out for Percy’s hand instead. Oliver squeezed it admiring the cool skin. 

“Ollie--”

Finally Oliver closed the space, his face inches below Percy’s. Percy’s glasses slid further down his nose teetering on the edge of its tip. Oliver felt Percy’s breath tickle Oliver’s face. “Can I kiss ye?” Oliver whispered.

“Aye,” Percy whispered.

Oliver’s hand slid onto Percy’s waist noticing how slim the healer’s physique was. He smiled the way Percy said ‘aye’ as if to imitate him. Percy looked down to meet Oliver’s eyes. They were so kind, so soft. Oliver was surprised to be given so much trust and vulnerability after his little speech. It was something he didn’t take lightly. He wanted to kiss Percy, to take Percy out on another date, to be allowed just  _ one more minute _ before he left.

Percy stood so close, Oliver could reach up and brush the man’s hair. How soft would it be? 

“What?” Percy hummed. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Oliver stared for a moment sad to see Percy shut his eyes. One more minute to look into those blues. He closed his eyes, going up just a bit on his toes to press against Percy’s lips. His hair within Oliver’s grasp now. His year of accidental abstinence seemed so easy now that the prettiest man on the planet was kissing him. Percy’s hand cradled his face. Oliver shifted to a more comfortable position, sighing softly into the kiss. It was a little wet, but Percy’s lips were the perfect balance of chapped and soft. He tried to mumble Percy’s name and Percy pulled away suddenly.

“Sorry--” Percy whispered, his right hand still clinging to Oliver’s collar. “I--”

“Don’t be sorry.” Oliver’s eyes were wide as they scanned Percy’s face. “We can stop.” Oliver’s hand was glued to Percy’s chest. He took a second to breathe. What was happening right now? Was this where he woke up and found himself in St. Mungo’s drinking Skele-Gro? Percy leaned back in kissing Oliver with greater fervor. Oliver twisted his hand into Percy’s hair at last moaning at the texture. This was what it felt like? It still was damp from the rain, but as curly as ever. Percy wore the same cologne, and tasted the way he did during the gala -- the very same reddened lips.

Oliver’s hand moved down from Percy’s magnificent mane to rest on his hip. His spare hand pressed into Percy’s lower back. Those lithe fingers wrapped around Oliver’s broad shoulders and ran through his sopping wet hair and brushed across his taut back muscles. The touch was cold and Oliver reflexively tightened his muscles before he relaxed. Oliver couldn’t help but kiss harder and faster. He wanted more, needed more. He pulled away to drift down, peppering Percy’s jawline and neck in kiss after kiss. To show the man someone could worship him the way he deserved. Percy moaned in response as Oliver pressed another kiss to his lips. Percy tugged his fingers through his hair and pulled at Oliver’s crown. 

Oliver pulled away again, “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. He looked up at Percy’s red cheeks, flushed neck, and dilated pupils. Percy took a few quick breaths. It would take one word, and Oliver would pull away and be done with it. Oliver waited so long, and he would wait forever if it was Percy. 

“What if I don’t want you to stop, Ollie?” Percy answered.

Oliver couldn’t even speak as he allowed his hands to pull Percy back in to shower him in every bit of desire Oliver had for months. His cock started to understand where this was going. Oliver never rushed first dates -- or whatever this was, but he wanted to break his rules for Percy. He would break anything and everything for Percy. 

“I have a bedroom,” Percy whispered. “Might be… more comfortable.” The floor was hardly the place to fuck -- even if it looked soft. It wasn’t the place for two grown men. At least, for the first time they properly shagged. 

“Okay,” Oliver nodded. Percy licked his bottom lip, looking at Oliver’s chest again. The keeper watched the healer gawk at him for a moment. Those damned hands pressed into Oliver’s shoulders again. His fingertips trailed down his chest marveling. Percy tugged on the bit of chest hair there. 

Oliver tried to choke back his laughter. “Aye, ye’ve seen it already.” He shifted his stance and brought his hip to grind against Percy. Percy covered his mouth as he groaned. Oliver looked at Percy’s jumper. He would rip it off if it wasn’t gone soon. “My turn tae see--”

“Fair enough,” Percy chuckled, tugging at the bottom of the shirt and lifting it in one clean go. Oliver kissed Percy’s neck when he missed the taste of Percy’s skin. He let his fingers wrap around Percy’s waist band. 

“Where’s… which bedroom?” Oliver asked.

Percy mumbled the left door. Percy shuffled toward his room before Oliver stopped him and pushed Percy against the wall. He nipped and sucked at Percy’s throat. Percy’s hand ran over his spine in such a soft and perfect way, Oliver wanted to chastise the healer that he wouldn’t break. Was he counting each vertebrae? Oliver couldn’t tell because the man was making these  _ noises _ . Percy shouldered his bedroom door open. Immediately Oliver collapsed onto Percy’s made bed and flipped over onto his elbows. The sheets wrinkled underneath him. A grin plastered across his face. 

Percy’s face lit up in the most beautiful, heavenly way. Oliver watched the healer at the door. The glasses sat crooked on the shirtless man’s nose. How many freckles covered Percy’s body? Oliver would get to count today. He bit his bottom lip, eyes half lidded. Then he noticed the way Percy hesitated. 

Oliver started to sit up, “Or did ye--”. Percy might prefer the bottom, but he shook his head settling into a heart stopping smirk. The lean man climbed on top of Oliver’s body and pushed him down further onto the bed without word. “Perce,” he whispered, letting his course hand brush across the pale skin again. The muscles underneath his hand rippled at his touch. 

He pressed his index finger trying to count each freckle and mole from collarbone to naval, eyes focused on touching every part of Percy’s body. 

“You’ll lose count, Ollie,” Percy whispered, brushing Oliver’s hair back and tugging on the ends. 

Oliver’s breath hitched, arching his hips up into Percy. “I’ll come up with a system,” he answered, wrapping his arms around the man to bring him closer. They held each other, meeting lips, peeking eyes open only to smile under their kisses and return more intensely. 

Percy’s hand slipped beneath Oliver’s slacks, pausing, “Okay?” he mumbled, brows knit together. 

“Yes, love,” Oliver nodded, throwing his head back when Percy’s hand touched him. It was better than anything he ever experienced, better than anyone who had touched him before. He worked on nipping Percy’s collarbone keeping his ears tuned in on Percy’s cessations of breath and throaty moans. 

Oliver tugged on Percy’s belt, wanting to touch Percy. “Perce,” he moaned, when the man’s thumb dragged over his tip. “Fuck,” he sighed, squeezing his muscles together for a brief moment. 

Percy dropped low to whisper in Oliver’s ear, “Do you want me to…” he hesitated. 

“Fuck me?” Oliver offered, kissing Percy’s lips. Time seemed fuzzy and irrelevant. They could have been on that bed for thirty minutes now, and Oliver wouldn’t know. It only felt like seconds. “I want ye tae fuck me,” he agreed, shivering at the words on his lips. 

No truer words had ever been spoken. 

“Take off your pants, Ollie,” Percy ordered.

Oliver sat up resting his hands on Percy’s hips. “Is this real?” he asked, kissing light ginger hair on Percy’s breastbone. “Tell me it’s real.”

Percy combed through Oliver’s hair, “It’s real, love.” Percy laughed softly, furrowing his brows before he kissed Oliver’s forehead, lips, jaw, neck-- Oliver lost track and forgot to take off his pants for the moment. 

But, Percy remembered because he kept tugging at the jeans. Oliver with Percy’s help slid out of the wet jeans stained with red wine. A tent formed in his boxers, and Oliver had a feeling Percy faced a similar issue. 

“Merlin,” Percy whispered, pushing Oliver harshly back again. 

Oliver’s breath hitched again, “Your glasses--” 

“Oh right,” Percy agreed, tugging the frames off and tossing them onto the bed stand. He kissed Oliver before tugging his pants off too. Percy turned toward his drawer. He procured lube and a condom offering the items. “Sexual safety,” Percy bit his lip, unable to stop from the wide smile taking over his entire expression. That. 

_ That _ . 

“Fuck, yer bonnie,” Oliver whined, running his hands across Percy’s thin arms unable to stop himself from marveling at his lover’s body. “Magnificent, perfect, beautiful--”

“You’re the sexiest person I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Percy replied, bluntly. He brushed his hand against Oliver’s erection again. Oliver whined. “You like that Ollie?” 

“Fuck, Perce,” Oliver chuckled, wrapping his hand around the man’s neck to pull him into a kiss. It was hot and wet and practiced. Both of them clearly knew what they were doing -- there were perks to being thirty. “I like everything yer doing,” he grunted, unable to stop his voice from getting deeper. 

The pair continued kissing and touching and touching and touching until their bodies were screaming for release for anything to relieve the pent up heat. Oliver gasped each time Percy grazed his untouched erection. Oliver couldn’t help but make small red hickies covering the pale man’s chest. Anything to remind Oliver that  _ yes _ Percy was his to have now. As long as Oliver could hold on.

Percy paid back in kind trying to get a large love bite at the base of Oliver’s neck. He likely succeeded the way his teeth sank deeper and deeper sucking until Oliver whined and moaned loud enough. It  _ hurt _ . Oliver’s fingers squeezed Percy’s arms, nearly able to wrap his whole hand around the circumference. So  _ beautiful _ . 

Oliver brushed his hands back up, across Percy’s shoulders down to the happy trail just before his boxers. He looked up at the blue eyes though Percy’s pupil practically covered the entire iris. Percy nodded, biting his lip as Oliver wrapped his hand around Percy’s cock. 

Percy’s hands squeezed the bed sheet below them. Oliver kissed his neck gently stroking Percy up and down as Percy made the softest, sweetest gasps and moans in his ear. “Ye like that?” he whispered, stroking a bit more roughly. 

“B-be careful, I don’t want to finish yet,” Percy’s breath hitched. 

With one more tease, Oliver pulled his hand back out. His thumbs tucked into the waistband pulling it down to let Percy’s erection bounce briefly before settling. Percy copied the movement with Oliver’s underwear. The two took the other in unable to stop from falling into another mess of kissing. Oliver licked Percy’s bottom lip slipping his tongue in. He counted how many teeth the man had in his mouth before repeating the action all over again. Percy’s tongue met his for a moment before delving into Oliver’s mouth to repeat his action -- he tasted like red wine and smelled like that  _ fucking cologne _ . 

Oliver dug his short fingernails into Percy’s back gently scratching down from his shoulder blades to his tailbone. Oliver smoothed his palm over Percy’s round arse unable to travel much further. He ran his index finger between Percy’s cheeks before he settled his hand on Percy’s back again. 

Percy started to suck and bite all over again traveling down Oliver’s torso. Every now and then, Percy mumbled  _ Ollie, Oh Ollie _ under his breath. He paused to look up at Oliver with the ghost of a smile before he continued down and down until --

“Perce--” Oliver moaned, feeling Percy’s warm mouth around him now. “Fuck--”

Pulling his mouth away, Percy teased, “Are ‘Perce’ and ‘Fuck’ the only two words you remember, Ollie?” 

“At the moment,” Oliver chuckled, his heart fluttering in his chest. His head was dizzy again unsure if this much pleasure could be possible. 

The light flickered. 

Percy and Oliver burst into laughter. “That hasn’t happened to me in a while--” Oliver gasped, Percy licking the tip. “I--”

“Accidental magic, Ollie-- I arouse you this much?” Percy teased again, sucking the tip over and over until it was too sensitive. Oliver writhed under the touch. 

“Fuck me,” Oliver groaned. 

Percy made quick work of it. He coated his finger in lube, carefully spreading Oliver’s legs. Oliver opened his legs up curling his back so Percy could reach. Percy’s other hand ran over the defined lines of Oliver’s abdominal muscles. “You’re perfect, Ollie,” Percy whispered, resting the finger tip just outside Oliver’s pink hole. He carefully circled around the tight muscle. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Oliver nodded, closing his eyes when Percy slid into him slowly curling his finger just so. Oliver’s breath hitched as Percy’s pressed right into his prostate. “Wow--”

The lights flickered again. 

“That was me,” Percy admitted, his cheeks flushed with color, brows furrowing in concentration. He bent down to Oliver’s ear. “You like that, don’t you?” His finger ran across Oliver’s prostate again and Oliver’s erection twitched. A bit of precum shined on the tip. 

Two months ago, Oliver never thought this would be happening to him. He couldn’t think much of anything other than Percy’s pink nipples, and hickies, and the way he looked like the sky with stars the way his freckles scattered and concentrated in little patches. 

Oliver gave a soft hum in confirmation, “Aye.” Another finger slipped in when Oliver was stretched a bit more. The healer clearly had a few tricks up his sleeve. It slipped in and out a little easier this time. Oliver arched his back moaning. He moaned Percy’s name until he couldn’t quite form the word. He was a mess. He had a handful of Percy’s hair tugging and tugging every time the man hit  _ yes right there fuck _ . 

“Percy!” Oliver shouted when another wave of heat hit him. It pooled right under his belly, building so slowly.    
  


“Oh  _ Ollie _ ,” Percy moaned, coating his hand in lube again. The third finger came even easier. Percy still maintained a slow, methodical pace. Oliver writhed under the penetration wanting Percy to go a little faster. “Too slow?” Percy asked, furrowing his brows. 

“Wee faster, please,” Oliver answered, continuing to touch every inch of Percy’s body only stopping on occasion to suck on the bits of skin he missed. Percy’s skin was so sensitive to Oliver’s touches. 

The more Oliver’s prostate was stimulated, the more unbearable and achy his erection became. He wanted to cum, and he didn’t even know how long he would last when Percy finally decided to fuck him properly. Oliver wrapped his hand back around Percy gently coaxing the man to stay aroused though based on the red flush now dominating his chest and face -- Oliver had nothing to worry about. 

Percy and Oliver whispered every compliment their minds could conjure. They couldn’t stop whining the further they teased and prodded at the other. It was torturous, but  _ perfect and amazing and everything Oliver ever dreamed of _ . 

They were sweaty and unable to catch their breaths. Percy finally added the fourth finger unafraid to add more lube. Oliver appreciated the precaution. He hadn’t done it in a while, so he needed to be worked up a little. 

Oliver kissed Percy again letting his lips slightly part. Percy slipped his tongue into his mouth again going from back molar to his canines before repeating on the other side. The tongue pressed against Oliver’s palette and pressed against his slightly crooked bottom teeth. Oliver held Percy’s face between his hands. His thumbs running across Percy’s sharp cheekbones and jawline. They kept kissing and kissing -- it must have been ten minutes of it because Percy finally pulled his hand out of his stretched arse. 

“Wanna finish?” Oliver mumbled, pulling back for a quick breath. He kissed Percy’s face over and over as the man gave the slightest smile in response. 

“I really want to finish,” Percy muttered back, eyes hung low enough that Oliver saw the only the slightest bit of white of his eyes. “I want to fuck you  _ Ollie _ ,” he followed up. 

“Then do it,” Oliver groaned, his erection bumping against Percy’s thigh. 

Percy pulled away, and Oliver watched as Percy put the condom on. “Are you enjoying your view, Ollie?” 

“Aye,” Oliver hummed, giving a goofy smile in return. He rubbed Percy’s knee. “Yer beautiful, Perce.”

Percy climbed on top of him again. “Let’s finish together,” he whispered to Oliver, kissing the keeper’s ear. He nibbled on the earlobe, Oliver whined grinding his hips into Percy’s pelvis. 

Oliver nearly lost his breath when Percy pushed in so carefully. They stayed frozen in the position for a moment. “Alright?” Percy asked.

“Go ahead,” Oliver moaned, letting his hand fall to jerk himself off while Percy thrust. 

Oliver tried to focus on Percy’s eyes looking down on him so lovingly so softly. They stayed locked in one another’s gaze listening to the smacking sound their bodies made together. Oliver gasped when Percy hit the  _ spot _ . 

Percy caught on making sure to push into it each time. They were nearly losing control kissing and gasping and kissing and gasping and moaning -- the lights flickered until they blew out (though they would work later). So much energy went into waiting, but they were close, so  _ bloody _ close. 

“I’m close, Ollie,” Percy gasped, biting his bottom lip. His eyes shut as he started to pick up a bit more speed. 

“You can cum,” Oliver answered, feeling his stomach ripple in warning. Percy came first, his arms shaking to stay in his position over Oliver. Oliver continued to tease the tip of his cock with each rounding pass before Percy swatted his hand away and somehow performed an even better hand job. 

Oliver moaned, his legs shaking slightly from the anticipation. His toes curled. He closed his eyes tighter and tighter as his mouth fell open. Every muscle in his body tensed before he allowed the sensation to overwhelm him. He spilled out onto his stomach. He took in a deep breath before exhaling. 

Both men laid next to each other for that moment. Neither moving. Oliver turned his head to see Percy staring at the ceiling with a dazed look in his eye. “Perce?” Oliver whispered, cleaning himself up with his wand. He curled around the man bringing him close. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah…” Percy whispered back, snapping out of his senses to look at Oliver with normal pupils again. There they were, his blue eyes. “That was perfect,” he added, moving his hand to rest on Oliver’s cheek. His thumb brushed over Oliver’s slight stubble. Oliver nuzzled his nose over Percy’s unable to stop himself from beaming at his lover.

They shared a kiss again resigning themselves to relax. Percy pulled the sheet over their bodies. He shifted around before he wrapped himself around Oliver, resting his chin on top of the man’s head. “Is this okay?” Percy asked. 

“Of course,” Oliver yawned, closing his eyes. He opened them again to check his watch for the time. It had been well over an hour then. “Is it alright if… I stay here?”

“I’d like that,” Percy whispered, kissing Oliver’s forehead again. “Night Ollie.”

Oliver held Percy’s arms close, kissing each and every knuckle before he fell asleep, unbelievably comfortable and warm in the healer’s arms. Percy continued to lazily kiss Oliver’s head as he cradled the Quidditch player. Oliver felt the soft beat of Percy’s heart against Oliver’s bareback. He peeked over his shoulder one last time to make sure Percy was real and there. 

Percy still had his eyelids slightly open, “What?”

“Yer beautiful,” Oliver mumbled. It became harder to keep his eyes open, slumping back into Percy and the soft mattress. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go (the epilogue)! What a great six weeks this has been. Stay tuned for next week. I hope you enjoyed the much needed sex scene between these fools in love. Once again, you made it. The /slow burn/ is over. Thank you for commenting, leaving kudos, and being generally amazing readers. 
> 
> Until next week!


	6. The Unruly Healer Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a five course meal. He eyed each plate with suspicion only moaning once he tasted it. It was all magnificent. Perhaps he had enough to drink. He looked across the table at Fred and George whispering into Lee and Angelina’s ears -- they looked as ready to steal off to an empty room in the manor. Oliver watched another glass of red wine magically appear in front of him -- right, if you finished they refilled it. He knew that might push him over the edge from tipsy to intoxicated, but he sipped it carefully. Percy’s eyes were watching his every move. Tonight wasn’t the night. It didn’t… it didn’t feel right. 
> 
> Chickening out again? Oliver reached into his pocket, running his fingers over the contours of the box before he retracted his hand to hold Percy’s under the table. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The FINAL chapter! So sorry for the delay -- I wanted to make sure what I wrote was up to par with the rest of the story. It ended up taking a little extra time (AnotherAuthor nagged me incessantly too). 
> 
> Please enjoy. This was such a delight to write, and I can't wait to continue exploring Perciver.

The alcohol warmed him in ways that not even the hottest summer day could -- even the practice days. Oliver gave a heavy handed sip to the drink that Fred shoved into his hand. He leaned across the bar dropping whatever loose galleons were in his pocket. The bartender, a young woman with brunette hair, winked toward him. Oliver gave an obligatory smile before he walked far away. 

The affair was magnificent. Taking place in the Potter Manor’s garden, the guests milled around underneath the darkening winter sky. Part of him yearned to run away from the guests to hide in the intricate looking maze of plants. Everything demonstrated the elegance and sheer wealth of the pureblood family. Unfortunately, he needed to stay -- obligatory attendance of a groomsman. 

His dress robes were as comfortable as they could be, by Oliver Wood’s standards. He only wore restricting clothing for formal events, or when his boyfriend asked him to. Today had been both of those occasions, prompting the current ensemble that Oliver was sporting. 

How many drinks was this now? The crystal glass was now empty, much to Oliver’s surprise. He chuckled to himself, placing it down where the catering staff would retrieve it promptly. His body weaved through the large attendance. He smiled to those he knew, tipped his head to other League players -- receiving a few pennant challenges (Oliver restrained himself to fist fighting --  _ right he had plenty of alcohol _ ). 

George danced past him, halting in step. “Wood, dance with Mrs. Weasley,” he commanded, handing off Angelina Johnson -- no Angelina Weasley -- to him. “She wants a drink, but I needed to find a worthy suitor for her honor--”

“Mr. Weasley,” Angelina giggled, taking Oliver’s hand. “How much have the groomsmen had?” she whispered into the Quidditch Captain’s ear. 

“He’s had more than me,” Oliver answered, leading Angelina into the next dance. 

“How’s Puddlemere?”

The old Gryffindor Quidditch team assembled at the wedding. Potter made sure of that. Oliver was glad Potter chose to have their wedding during the season’s usual winter break. He didn’t need his seeker distracted by wedding planning. He spoke with Angelina laughing over old memories, keeping her preoccupied as Fred and George were scolded by their mother to the side of the dance floor. 

“Wood,” a voice called his attention. “Angie, can I steal him?”

Angelina looked down. Oliver followed her gaze to see Potter beaming up at them. Despite being adults, Potter still remained the shortest player. “By all means -- I need to rescue Mr. Weasley--” she laughed, walking toward her husband. 

“What do ye need?” Oliver asked.

Potter without warning whisked him into a dance. Oliver stumbled for a moment. “Ye don’t know how tae lead -- yer first dance was horrendous,” he insulted, starting to lead them instead. Potter looked good. His hair parted to the side, a green vest tucked underneath the blue dress robes matched his eyes. Well, that was what Percy and Ginny said earlier. 

“Enjoying my wedding then?”

“The open bar was a nice touch,” Oliver joked, running his spare hand through his wavy moussed locks. “I’d never have a wedding that’s this massive, Potter. The entire League is here--”

“Not the Bats,” Potter winked.

“If ye invited Flint, I wouldn’t be here,” Oliver shook his head in laughter. 

Potter stepped on his foot, making a poor excuse of an apology. “Anyway -- your wedding? Already thinking about what your wedding will look like, mate? The last eligible Weasley at your disposal--”

“Potter,” Oliver snorted, averting his gaze to look for Percy. He missed Percy. The crowd started to get overwhelming, and Percy always made him at ease. “ _ If _ I get married, it’ll be twenty guests maximum.”

“Well, the Weasley family takes up half your guests already--”

Oliver felt his pocket grow heavier as Potter teased him over Percy. It was Potter and Ginny’s favorite topic. When Potter didn’t move out immediately after his engagement, Oliver started to think it was to snoop on his budding romance on behalf of his new wife. Lord knows that the pair waited up every night that Oliver failed to come home from a date at the correct hour, conspiring to tell countless jokes about his romantic affairs. Fortunately, their lease ended in September and Oliver had been staying with Percy until an affordable flat popped up. (And yes, Oliver  _ technically  _ looked for a new flat over the past three months. But he spent half his time at tournaments, and those housing catalogues were so long…) Potter long since settled into the Harpies’ den -- a flat with four of the finest Quidditch players and Potter as their intruder. 

Potter’s hand slid down to his waist. Oliver’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, realizing what the man was about to do. He was caught now. Potter shoved his hand into Oliver’s pocket and pulled out the box.  _ That  _ box. The bastard dared to open it, his jaw dropping. “ _ Wood _ , are you--”

“POTTER!” Oliver cried out, grabbing the box and shoving it back into his pockets. His heart roared in his ears. “Don’t ye have  _ any manners _ ?” 

“Oh Merlin! Are you going to--  _ mate _ \-- I was only joking--” Harry had given up on dancing, too busy laughing at Oliver’s distress. “Good for you -- Does Ginny know? Oh my  _ god,  _ she’ll lose it--”

“Keep yer mouth shut. I don’t know when I’m going tae do it, aye? So, please, don’t tell anyone,” Oliver whispered, looking around. No sign of Percy, that was good. He tried to calm his somersaulting stomach. “I dinnae think this is the place. I’m… I’m looking for the perfect place.”

“Harry? Harry, Ronald is panicking,  _ help me _ ,” Hermione begged, coming over to the two men. “I don’t care to understand him. Luna’s been no help either!-- so sorry Oliver.”

Politely, Oliver gave a small nod for Potter to handle his best man. Potter let Hermione tug violently at his arm, turning his head to give a playful wink in his direction. “Good luck, Wood.” 

Oliver was unnerved by the interaction. Now Potter knew. It was only a matter of time before the Weasley family busted down Percy’s doors again.

Standing in the crowd, he made a move to leave the dance floor. He needed to go to a loo and drown himself in the sink. A soft hand captured his and Oliver turned with a knowing smile. He pulled his partner toward him. “Percy,” he purred, nuzzling Percy’s neck. He smelled like his expensive aftershave -- Oliver’s favorite. Hopefully, he could push away what happened only seconds before. 

“Hi Ollie,” Percy whispered, his cheeks flushed with color. “Shall I lead?”

“Aye,” Oliver nodded, falling into step. Despite only six months of bending into one another’s bodies, they understood each other. They caught the missteps before they happened and chuckled every time Oliver accidentally took the leading step -- Percy knew, he knew and he always followed. Despite their aversion to public affection, Oliver found himself kissing Percy’s neck, his jaw, his lips -- they tasted like red wine. 

Percy lightly admonished him, “Ollie, how much have you had to drink?” 

Oliver chuckled, face flush from the scotch. He wanted another glass, but Percy might cut him off if he went too far. He leaned into Percy’s ear, “I’m going tae make it up tae ye.” He noticed the guests around them too distracted to look in their direction. He nibbled on the bottom of Percy’s earlobe before he pulled away with a cheeky grin. “Only a few.”

“The reception started only an hour ago, love,” Percy whispered, resting a hand on Oliver’s cheek. “We have a few more hours, hm?”

“Potter’s uncle made us drink before the ceremony -- tradition or something. Potter needed it. Yer brothers kept joking about Ginny leaving him at the altar,” Oliver hummed, his mouth too fast for his head. He scrunched his nose, hiding into Percy’s shoulder. “Drink with me?”

The song changed, but it only inconvenienced them for a moment. The dance demanded a bit more care and consideration that Oliver lacked. He gently pulled Percy to the side. Besides, he wanted to disappear from the prying eyes of what looked like all of Wizarding society -- even his parents were invited by the Potters. 

His hand ran down Percy’s back, resting right above his arse. “Perce.”

Those blue eyes peered down at him, disapproving. Oliver giggled, unable to help himself. “Want to know what I’m going to do?”

“Oliver Malcolm Wood,” Percy replied, unable to hide a smile. 

Oliver managed to pull Percy down to his height, “I’ll take it slow -- the way ye like -- lick every --”

“ _ Ollie _ ,” Percy blushed, eyeing down to his trousers. Oliver kept whispering, but followed his gaze noticing the partial in his own robes. 

“Not here, love,” Percy added, tucking a piece of Oliver’s unruly hair behind his ear. “You know how frisky you get when you drink--”

“Whiskey,” Oliver laughed, kissing Percy with little regard for those around him. 

“Glad to see I won’t be the only one getting something tonight,” Potter said in passing, slapping Oliver firmly on the back as Ron stumbled after the dark haired groom. Oliver shot up, making eye contact with Potter. “Ron -- seriously what do you mean you  _ lost _ it?”

Oliver quirked an eyebrow as the two disappeared. “What do ye think he lost?” he asked, trying to stop the tremble in his voice. 

“I don’t want to know,” Percy sighed, pushing up his glasses. “Why don’t we have something to eat, Ollie? I’d rather not have you get sick.” It wasn’t judgmental. No, Percy’s tone held worry and adoration toward Oliver. Percy rested his cool hand on the side of Oliver’s neck. 

“Let’s get another round of drinks?” Oliver offered. 

Percy’s hand brushed down Oliver’s form, bumping against the box in his pocket. “What’s that?” he asked, smiling. 

Oliver’s eyes widened again before he returned to his cool composure. Percy knew how to read the slightest microexpression. As a healer, he needed to understand his patients down to the finest detail. Oliver tried to come up with a clever lie, “What’s what?”  _ Smooth _ .

“Okay Ollie,” Percy chuckled, guiding him toward a waiter giving out hor d’oeuvres. Oliver’s hand clutched the ring box in apprehension. He couldn’t get caught now. 

***

It was a five course meal. He eyed each plate with suspicion only moaning once he tasted it. It was all magnificent. Perhaps he had enough to drink. He looked across the table at Fred and George whispering into Lee and Angelina’s ears -- they looked as ready to steal off to an empty room in the manor. Oliver watched another glass of red wine magically appear in front of him --  _ right, if you finished they refilled it _ . He knew that might push him over the edge from tipsy to intoxicated, but he sipped it carefully. Percy’s eyes were watching his every move. Tonight wasn’t the night. It didn’t… it didn’t feel right. 

Chickening out again? Oliver reached into his pocket, running his fingers over the contours of the box before he retracted his hand to hold Percy’s under the table. 

Percy’s cheeks were rosy now. Oliver admired his slender neck with splotches of red. Oliver could already see how pink his skin likely became underneath the layers of clothing. Oliver leaned in to whisper to Percy. He knew how lewd his words were and how speechless Percy looked as Oliver went into detail how he planned to worship Percy. 

It was a bit of a blur. Oliver remembered dancing quite a bit -- alcohol tended to take out the reservations Oliver usually had to extroversion. He laughed with his friends and family. Even got teased by his mother and father when they saw Oliver kiss Percy again. (Malcolm elbowed him, “When are you going to do it my boy?”)

Every time he stole a glance at Percy, laughing with his family or someone he undoubtedly knew, Oliver softened. Percy caught his eye every time offering a smile so wide and free. Only Oliver was given those smiles. The dress robes looked no different on Percy then his work wardrobe sans the obnoxious lime green. Oliver preferred the dark blue with Percy’s eyes. He thought about peeling each layer off. Then he could run the pads of his fingers over Percy’s soft skin. 

As a photographer swung by, Oliver instinctively kissed Percy’s cheek before he looked back at the camera. Percy kissed his temple in kind. He resolved to steal the photo from Ginny at a later date. 

“I love you,” Percy whispered. Oliver felt his smooth thumb run over his hand as they strolled out to the lawn. Well Percy walked with grace as Oliver leaned into Percy’s side for guidance. His last drink left him handsy and needy. He pulled Percy’s hand up to his mouth whispering ‘I love ye’ with each kiss he gave to the knuckles. 

“Every inch--” he paused, kissing up Percy’s arm to his neck taking a deep breath. “I love ye so much, Perce, I could take ye right here.”

Oliver wanted to run off with his lover. He wanted to follow through on every last detail from kissing every freckle on Percy’s skin to shagging Percy until the sun came up. They settled into the grass as Oliver wrapped his arms around Percy. Despite the cold weather, Oliver felt immune -- letting his body heat pass on to Percy. He stole kisses where he could, but they were pressed against one another. Oliver admired Percy’s bony back poking into his chest. 

As soon as the fireworks began, Oliver became distracted, only able to refocus his attention on Percy every now and then. His hand ran soft circles over Percy’s chest feeling a soft vibration from Percy’s pleased humming. Then it was over. The sky became dark. Oliver could hardly see the faces around them.  _ A perfect moment to snog _ . 

Guests disapparated with cracks across the lawn. Percy kissed him softly, whispering something he couldn’t quite make out. On instinct, Oliver pushed Percy down into the grass, now chest to chest. He ran his tongue on the bottom of Percy’s lip. It was perfect. Tonight would be on par or better than the stag do sex. “Need tae make it up to ye,” Oliver whispered into Percy’s jacket. He buried his nose into the crook of Percy’s armpit. His arms pulled Percy into a tight hug.

Percy softly pried him away, rubbing Oliver’s scalp in expert fashion. Oliver relaxed under the touch loosening his grip on Percy. “I’m sure you will,” Percy replied. “We’ll go home in a minute, alright, Ollie? I’m… I’m supposed to help with the tables.”

Help with the tables?  _ No _ . Oliver wanted to leave, he tried to get up with Percy. “Do it tomorrow,” Oliver whined, collapsing back into the grass. He looked up at Percy’s tall figure knowing the longer they waited the less likely they’d shag. 

“Still alive, then?” Percy laughed, his attention elsewhere now. 

Oliver looked up to see the twins grinning at them. He grinned back, waving to his friends. Percy continued, dismissing himself to help with the tables. Oliver pouted when he was assigned the twins as babysitters. Nevertheless he giggled with them offering his compliments on the fireworks display. 

All three discussed their midnight affairs, unable to stop themselves from feeling like adolescent boys -- despite Oliver turning thirty one and the twins close to thirty in April. 

“Harry told us a secret,” Fred whispered to Oliver, his eyes bright in the shadows. 

“When are you going to do it then?” George asked from his other side. 

Oliver bit his lip, trying to admire the stars. “Ye dinnae tell anyone else?” he answered, his hands folded on his chest. “I know yer looking out for him, but… I want it tae be a surprise.” 

“I think we’re the only other ones to know, Wood. Don’t worry,” Fred reassured, rubbing his shoulder. “He won’t say no if that’s what you’re worried about--”

A scream cut off their conversation. 

In an instant, Oliver stood up, stumbled up more, and jogged back toward the tent. He knew that scream well enough by now (and he wouldn’t go into the details of  _ why _ he knew the scream so well). The twins managed to grab his arms until they reached the tent. Oliver saw Percy’s collapsed form. A sense of dread overtook him. “Percy!” he shouted, falling to his partner’s side. “Can I pick ye up?”

“No,” Percy said quickly. “Sit down, Ollie, don’t-- don’t move me. I… I… err… threw out my back.”

“Percy, I can pick ye up,” Oliver insisted. He didn’t understand. Percy needed to go to the hospital. He blinked down at Percy’s form. “I… I can kiss it better, aye?” he offered, starting to pout. 

Percy held out his hand. “Hold my hand, okay?--”

Oliver crawled over to Percy. He sat patiently, holding the hand as gently as he could. He tuned out the chatter around him focusing on Percy’s furrowed brows and his crooked glasses. He raised the hand to his lips to kiss each knuckle as he did earlier. It was hard to shake the worry. 

“Yer hurt,” Oliver whispered. He turned over Percy’s hand to kiss his palm. He tried to be light as a feather. He didn’t want to break Percy. He loved Percy so much. 

“I’m fine,” Percy answered. He closed his eyes. Oliver noticed the small frown. “I’m perfectly fine. I’ll… I’ll lie down for a few minutes. Be back up before you know it.”

“Percy, what’s--” His father began.

“Nothing,” Percy answered quickly, squeezing Oliver’s hand tightly. The twins argued with Percy over him being unable to feel his legs. Oliver’s eyebrows rose higher and higher, his nerves heightened. Oliver felt Percy squeeze his hand tight. He laid down, kissing Percy’s shoulder. It was a careful job not to jostle him. 

“I’ve fractured my spine, that’s all,” Percy spoke.

Oliver snapped to attention. His jaw became unhinged as he looked Percy over to any other injuries. What happened? There were tables scattered to the side. Had they fallen over? Percy’s voice grew quiet. Oliver strained to hear -- broken in three places? “Perce,” he whispered, kissing his hand a bit more desperate. “It’s okay,” he cooed, seeing Percy maintain his eye contact. 

As the Mediwizards arrived, Oliver took a sobering potion. He sat down in the transport watching Percy get carefully strapped to a stretcher. Never jostle a spinal injury -- Oliver had dealt with them before. With a grimace, he swished back the tar-tasting liquid before he immediately grabbed the bucket extended to him. Every last bit of alcohol began to be purged from his system. 

“Are you alright, love?” Percy mumbled.

Oliver hesitated, looking up at Percy with tired eyes, “Am  _ I  _ alright?” He felt his stomach twist as he watched more of the five course meal arise. The red wine must have done him in. It always had. “Percy, ye snapped yer  _ spine _ , ye could have  _ died _ \--”

“Please,” Percy scoffed. “It’s a minor injury.”

A minor injury was a scraped knee or a bruised elbow. Oliver tensed his jaw. A snap in the wrong place and Percy wouldn’t have been able to breathe. They went back and forth as always over how  _ severe _ the injury was. Based on what the Mediwizards described, Oliver determined he had been right. 

Tucked away in a side room, Oliver kept a firm grip on Percy’s hands continuing to fret over him now that his sickness passed. He eyed the healer that came into the room, watching her work diligently. Everything had to be perfect -- especially with Percy as the patient. He raked through Percy’s hair unable to hide his worry. He didn’t have a good poker face when he was upset. 

“See, Ollie? The healer says I’ll be perfectly fine. I should recover in a week’s time--”

“Ye tried to lift too many tables, didn’t ye--”

“I lifted the  _ exact  _ amount I am capable of,” Percy growled.

Oliver narrowed his eyes again. They could fight about this later. The healer swiftly intervened to suggest the administration of pain relieving elixirs. Oliver nodded at the recommendation. He didn’t want to see Percy in pain. It hurt to think about now. Percy nodded, taking the bottle into his hands and carefully drinking every drop. 

Percy’s eyes flickered to him as he pulled the bottle away. He scrunched his nose at Oliver. “ _See_ , Ollie? It’s not that hard.”

Oh the little arsehole -- Oliver sent a chastizing look. He remained in his seat continuing to comb through Percy’s hair. He could see Percy visibly relaxing under his touch. He whispered softly to Percy, “Yer alright, love,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to Percy’s forehead. His lips felt the cool skin underneath. Percy might have been in shock still. “It’s alright.”

“Mr. Weasley, we’re going to reattach your spinal cord,” the healer said. “This will hurt--”

“I’ll be fine,” Percy mumbled. 

Oliver watched a couple new healers enter as they surrounded Percy. He made sure to step back, a hand resting on Percy’s head. He bent down to whisper soft assurances. The first snap went into place, Percy screaming out and falling to a whimper. His blue eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Oh Perce,” he sighed, kissing his hairline again. 

The healers began to give careful instructions with a list of the potions Percy needed to take and at what time. Oliver looked over the parchment on taking care of spinal injuries. A few jokes were made about how the healer would no doubt boss Oliver around. Oliver could handle being Healer Wood for a few hours. He thanked them for their help as he gathered Percy into his arms. The woman put a brace around Percy’s back. “Be sure to bind him to the bed -- he’ll exhibit a fair bit of confusion from his potions.”

“Aye,” Oliver nodded, kissing Percy’s temple. He couldn’t stop the nagging sense of worry in his gut. 

When they arrived home, Oliver kicked his dress shoes off at the fireplace. Percy was light in his arms, his head slumped against Oliver’s chest. They moved into the bedroom. Oliver laid Percy down on the bed already adjusting the pillows just right. He pulled out Percy’s favorite nightwear and a new pair of briefs. 

Finally settled, Oliver took Percy’s glasses off his face kissing his furrowed brows. “Yer alright,” he hummed, even though Percy was still unconscious. 

Oliver eyed his side of the bed. He didn’t want to jostle Percy’s back. He cast the charms the healer recommended, kissing Percy’s cheek before he dug through their closet for the spare blankets. He shuffled out into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. When his head hit the cushion, he passed out immediately. 

  
  


***

In the morning light, Oliver stirred from his awkward position on the couch. His neck ached, his muscles tense on one side of his body. After a painful stretch, he laid back down. He thought about going for his morning run, but he decided to stay. Percy couldn’t move about alone. The healer could take matters into his own hands if he wanted to. He managed to Floo call St. Mungo’s to inform the front desk of Healer Weasley’s condition. They already knew and gave Percy the week off. 

His  _ other _ wake up call came soon enough. The soft crooning of Percy’s ‘ _ Ollie’ _ was music to his ears. Oliver chuckled at the whining. He stood up, rubbing his tired eyes as he walked down the hallway into their bedroom. As he stepped in, his eyes ran over Percy’s still frame. “Hi Percy, how are ye feeling?” he yawned. 

Careful to be quiet, he pulled up a chair by Percy’s side. He sunk down before running his hands through Percy’s hair all over again. Each time he tried to pull his hand back, Percy whined and demanded Oliver continue giving him attention. “Please Ollie?”

“Shh…” he chuckled, letting his fingers scratch at his partner’s scalp. “Are ye feeling okay?”

Rather than answering, Percy’s hand snuck underneath Oliver’s dress shirt. Oliver shivered at the touch, trying to hold back his laugh when it tickled. “You’re so  _ handsome _ , Ollie.” 

It was a good thing the potions hadn’t worn off. Oliver didn’t want Percy to be in pain. He knew he needed to check the clock soon to get breakfast and the next round of potions in. He gently took Percy’s wriggling hand, lifted the duvet, and placed Percy’s hand back in. “Do ye remember what happened, love?”

As Percy gave a quiet answer, Oliver continued to look him over. He wanted to make sure Percy felt comfortable at the very least. 

“Ollie, can we have sex?”

Oliver shook his head, “No, ye fractured yer spine.” The healers recommended strenuous activity after a week’s time. Oliver didn’t mind. He wanted Percy in good health. He went to ask another question to be interrupted by Percy’s complaints. 

It took every ounce of willpower not to give in as Percy demanded to be licked -- properly shagged. As he tugged on Oliver’s sleeve, the man pulled away carefully. His hand encapsulated Percy’s, “Percy, I promise that as soon as yer healed, we can have as much sex as you want.”

“Break my back again?” Percy smiled. 

When Percy’s hand reached out again, it rested on Oliver’s knee. He patted Percy’s hand. “Aye, but maybe not in three places,” Oliver chuckled, leaning over to kiss his forehead. The nagging worry remained. It was fortunate Percy hurt his lower back rather than his neck. “Get some rest,” Oliver sighed. He didn’t see a clock, but he knew Percy would start to feel the pain if they weren’t diligent. 

“I’m not tired,” Percy sighed. “What time is it?”

“Err…” Oliver paused. He checked the time, frowning. Percy needed to take the potions by eight. “Half past seven-- oh, I called into yer work, ye have the week off.”

Oliver tried to hide his smile as Percy whined about missing work. He brushed Percy’s hair back feeling his slightly sweaty forehead. Percy blinked up at Oliver, complimenting his healing abilities. Oliver bowed his head at the compliment. 

“I love you.”

“And I love ye,” Oliver replied, reflexively now. He decided it would be a good time to change out of his uncomfortable dress robes from the wedding. He tossed his jacket onto the chair before going into their closet. He grabbed what clothes looked comfortable. There was no intention of leaving the flat today. If he looked around Percy’s office, he might be able to find a book he hadn’t read yet. shedding the jacket of his dress robes on the chair next to Percy before walking towards the closet. 

Stepping back into the room, Oliver stripped down listening to Percy discuss his fashion sense. Oliver listened before replying, “Dress robes aren’t comfortable, Perce. Ye know I don’t like ‘em.” He shimmied into a loose shirt and sweatpants, smiling warmly to Percy who continued to stare him down.

“I love you,” Percy repeated, as if he forgot how many times he said it to Oliver that morning. 

Oliver watched Percy’s smile spread across his cheeks. His own smile softened. This was definitely not Healer Weasley from eight months prior. “Ollie, I love you so much. You’re so good to me, and you look very good in dress robes.”

All he could do was thank Percy again as he prepared to leave the room. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he managed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Very  _ fuckable _ .”

“ _ Perce _ ,” Oliver replied, rounding to Percy’s side again. It only took a few more complaints about Oliver not loving him before Oliver bent down and kissed Percy’s cheek. “Of course I love ye.”

For whatever reason, Oliver listed all the reasons he loved Percy. As if he needed to prove himself to his boyfriend’s doped up version, “I love… the way ye brew coffee for me, even when I dinnae ask for it. I love yer passion for work, how ye work so hard… and how ye always send me a note when yer coming back late.”

His hand rose to stroke Percy’s smooth cheek. 

Percy mumbled, his other cheek resting on the pillow, “Of course I wrote notes, because I love your cooking. You give me leftovers.”

“I love that ye eat the leftovers and still order take away once I’ve gone to bed,” Oliver laughed, remarking how deadly the Indian take away place had become during Percy’s late shifts. His mind drifted to all the reasons he wanted to marry Percy. Percy was beautiful, kind, and compassionate like no other person he ever met -- albeit hard around the edges. 

Unable to help himself he peppered kisses across Percy’s face threatening to kiss every freckle. Percy’s giggle was contagious, Oliver’s chest bubbling warmly to give his own giggle. Percy tried to sit up, and Oliver quickly nudged him back. 

“I should have done this when you were at St. Mungo’s.”

Oliver shook his head, “Yer back -- bedrest for two days, aye?” He saw the flinch Percy made even if the other didn’t quite process the pain yet. He didn’t want Percy to overextend himself. He kissed Percy again. “Not sure that would have been  _ professional _ , Percy--”

Soon enough, Oliver felt himself getting hard when Percy murmured compliments toward Oliver’s arse. He laughed it off. No sex for a week he wanted to remind his partner. It was a challenge when Percy’s hand reached for his belly again. Oliver gently guided the hand to the bed. By some stroke of fate, there was a knock at the door. 

“Better get that -- I’ll be back, aye? Ye need yer potions and something to eat. What can ye stomach right now?”

Percy mumbled a nonreply. Oliver nodded deciding toast would have to do for now. He kissed Percy a temporary goodbye, double checking the restraints on the bed before going into the living room. 

Opening the front door, Oliver saw Charlie Weasley with a tupperware of fudge in his hands. “Wood, how are ya?” he asked, stepping into the flat. “Sorry for the early drop in -- I have work in an hour, and mum wanted me to bring by Percy’s favorite.”

“Rum and raisin?” Oliver chuckled, unsurprised Molly sent over sweets. “Well, he’s a bit out of it. I was going to grab his potions. Maybe ye can sit with him for a bit?” 

“Sure,” Charlie shrugged, kicking his shoes off. “How are you feeling after last night?”

“Could ask ye the same -- I saw ye disappear with Tonks?” Oliver remarked. He remembered the woman from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team all those years ago. Charlie and she had been on and off for -- fifteen years? “Surprised ye two haven’t…”

Charlie laughed, “That’s not really my style, Oliver. Though George mentioned something to me last night about you and Percy?”

Without answering, Oliver went to grab toast and Percy’s prescriptions. He walked down the hallway with Charlie in tow. Of course all the siblings knew the secret now. Potter couldn’t keep any secret to himself -- he always had to tell Ron and Ginny. The rest was history. He opened the door, smiling to Percy who looked perfect in the dimly lit room. His smile had become smaller, but it captured the same sweet love they had for one another.

“Hi, Ollie.”

Oliver looked to Charlie both of them sharing a knowing look. Charlie leaned in to whisper to Oliver, “He’s much nicer when he’s hurt isn’t he?”

“Only if he has pain relievers,” Oliver snorted, turning his attention to Percy again. “Percy, Charlie came to visit.” He stepped in, letting Charlie follow behind him. 

“Feeling better, Percy?” Charlie asked. “Mum sent chocolates--”

“Did she send rum and raisin fudge?” Percy perked up. Oliver made sure Percy didn’t move too much, though the fact his dress robes were on the healer’s lap told him there had been quite a bit of movement since he left. 

“Yeah,” Charlie laughed.

“Not that ye should be having sugar,” Oliver piped up. He crossed his arms, trying to keep a stern gaze. Percy never let his patients eat fudge when they were recovering. He couldn’t help but have a small disapproving frown. Healer Wood needed to be assertive.

“Ollie,” Percy began. “Where did you buy this? It’s very pretty.”

Oliver paused, moving into the room before he froze in place. The glittering engagement ring sat perfectly on Percy’s ring finger -- the left hand of course. And Oliver had left the box in the jacket and then left the jacket next to Percy. The air fell from his lungs as his eyes widened. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wanted to rewind time to hide the box back into a pair of socks. “What-- Percy, did ye go through my pockets?”

“I was bored.”

“Is that the--” Charlie began.

Oliver rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t get upset. Percy probably would forget what happened. Oliver forgot stuff all the time! He took a steadying breath as Percy suggested Charlie try the custom engagement ring on. His stomach sank -- it looked right on Percy, but Oliver wanted the  _ right _ moment. It was why he carried the bloody thing around everywhere!

“Listen, mate. I’ll try it on later, yeah? Mum’s… expecting me to run out for some groceries. I think Oliver’s taking  _ great  _ care of you.” 

_ So much for staying, traitor.  _ Oliver went to grab Percy’s toast, glaring at Charlie Weasley, who was already stifling laughter and winking. 

“He’s so great,” Percy agreed, as he waved to his older brother. “Bye, Charlie!” 

Tentatively, Oliver moved toward the bed putting Percy’s breakfast down along with the three multicolored bottles. He tried to remember to breathe. With careful guidance, Percy took the next round of pain relievers along with the other two that Oliver couldn’t quite remember the name of. He watched Percy eat his toast delicately similar to a bird pecking bird seed. Percy always seemed like a fussy eater until it was the middle of the night and he consumed half their kitchen.

Oliver couldn’t help but continue to glance at the ring. He waited for Percy to speak. Did the man even know it was an engagement ring? He wrung his hands in his lap unable to eat the toast he made for himself. 

“Do you want the ring back?” Percy replied, with food in his mouth. Oliver smiled a little at the impropriety. Percy  _ never _ talked with food in his mouth. “I think it would look very nice on you.”

There were options. Oliver could lie and act like the ring was his. Though, Percy saw through most of his lies. “It’s yers,” Oliver sighed. “Too… too fancy for me.” It was engraved -- it took several weeks to make. He insisted on having a few extra details added as a symbol of their love. Perhaps this was too soon. 

“If I’m wearing a ring, you should wear a ring,” Percy replied, grabbing Oliver’s hand suddenly. He held it there looking down at Oliver’s ring-vacant hands. “I have one for you, it’s in the little box hidden in the globe on my bookshelf. Go get it, Ollie, hurry.”

Oliver hesitated at the admission. He was pleased to hear that Percy was on the same page (as Percy wasn’t the best at keeping secrets). But he knew Percy  _ planned _ . Percy was meticulous. Percy likely concocted some extravagant proposal that Oliver would no doubt love and cherish for the rest of his life. His Percy would not want to do this. No, Oliver could tell Percy had a pre-written speech challenging Shakespeare’s sonnets. Alas, he furrowed his brows and stood up to go to where the globe sat in the living room. 

If his engagement plans were ruined, then so were Percy’s plans. 

With a steadying breath, he walked toward the bookcase. He cracked open the globe to see a velvet ring box. Taking a steadying breath, he thought of opening it. He should check right? He peeked inside to see a simple gold ring with a thistling pattern. His thumb ran over the detailing, noticing the engraving on the inside  _ ‘I love you’ _ . His heart ached. He tried to stop himself from tearing up as he walked through the flat to Percy. 

“Err… is this what yer talking about?” Oliver held the now closed box to Percy. 

“Yes,” Percy nodded. He tugged on Oliver’s shirt. Oliver obediently sat down beside Percy on the bed. “Give it to me, I want to put the ring on you.”

Oliver’s left hand shook a little as he held out his sun-kissed skin for Percy to take hold. It was perfect in its own little way. They both had a habit of surprising the other. It was never conventional love between them. 

Percy sighed beside him, a smile painted on his face as he insisted Oliver could wear it  _ for now _ . It had to be given back so that Percy could give it to him later. Oliver breathed in again, “Aye, that’s okay.” 

In his cold hands, Oliver admired how the ring slipped on (a bit clumsily). He helped Percy put it on the rest of the way. How Percy knew his ring measurements was beyond him. 

“Now, I can’t ask you to marry me  _ yet _ \--”

“Why not?” Oliver answered. He looked down at the gold ring. It really was perfect. All of it even if Percy had a habit of stealing the covers at night or leaving his dirty dishes in the sink. Oliver laughed, looking up at Percy, “Perce, you’re already wearing an engagement ring.” 

“An engagement--” 

Oliver should have known better. “I was going to wait until yer off medication, but… will ye marry me? I can ask again tomorrow.” By now the whole family knew Oliver asked for Percy’s hand. Molly might come knock down the door once Charlie confirmed their nuptials. 

Percy continued to show Oliver how  _ nice _ the ring was. Oliver took his hand. Percy appreciated gifts more than anyone he knew. “Ollie, it’s so  _ pretty _ , why didn’t you ask  _ sooner _ ? It would have matched my tie yesterday…”

“I could have worn it to  _ work _ . It goes so well with my new robes I bought after that patient threw up on my old ones--” Oliver listened to Percy ramble for what might have been an hour as he giggled at the endless combination of outfits. Percy did take up 90% of the closet space. 

As their giggles settled, Percy gently pulled Oliver closer. “Ollie, will you marry me?”

“Aye,” Oliver said, without hesitation. He leaned in to give Percy a chaste kiss on the lips. Percy had other ideas wrapping his hand around Oliver’s neck. The cool metal of the ring sent a shiver down Oliver’s spine. He climbed into bed next to Percy, mindful of his movements. “Dinnae worry, I’ll give the ring back and ye can forget this--”

“Don’t want to forget,” Percy smiled, closing his eyes. Oliver tried to move away, but Percy grumbled and latched on to him. It was so hard to resist going limp and taking a more restful nap next to his… fiance. 

“Ye need tae rest,” Oliver chuckled, placing a kiss to Percy’s forehead. He kissed Percy’s cheekbone, then his jaw before he settled down again. “What was it ye said? Don’t ruin my work, aye?”

“Okay, Ollie.” Percy yawned, pressing his head into the pillow and humming as Oliver tucked him in. 

For a few minutes, Oliver admired Percy in the morning light. He was careful to comb his fingers through the healer’s hair. The rest of the day he took care of a sleepier Percy. When they fell asleep that night, Oliver carefully removed their rings. He slipped them into the drawer. As soon as his ring was gone, part of his heart ached to put it back on. No matter. Oliver resolved to propose properly tomorrow once Percy was a bit more present minded. 

“I love ye,” he hummed to an unconscious Percy. In his sleep, Percy grabbed Oliver’s night shirt and tugged him to his side. “Blanket hog…” he mumbled.

***

Oliver got up first. He went through his routine to make a bit of a better breakfast this time. Eggs, sausage, a tomato, and toast were plated rather nicely. Though Percy would hardly notice the detail. Oliver poked his head into the bedroom seeing Percy sitting up on his own. That was good. The packet said that this should be happening by now. 

“Good morning, Percy,” he smiled, placing the food down at his bedside. He leaned over to kiss Percy’s head. Percy would no doubt want to wash up later. Oliver figured he could draw a bath with some of those essential oils they only used for  _ special occasions _ . 

Percy huffed in response, crossing his arms. “You could have said no,” Percy grumbled, reclining into the pillows and flinching. Oliver frowned at the physical reaction. Perhaps he should go back to St. Mungo’s for another round of pain relievers. 

Percy looked down at their bare hands. “I  _ knew  _ it was too soon--” Oliver allowed Percy to take his hand for a brief moment before he let go. 

After letting the room sit in silence, Oliver spoke up, “Ah, ye remembered.” He knew this would happen, but Percy requested that Oliver take the ring off so Percy could ‘redo’ the event. He smiled at Percy scratching his head. “Err… I thought ye’d want to wait until after the potions wore off -- wasn’t sure it counted--”

“ _ I  _ think it should.”

Another tense silence followed. Oliver paced around the room unsure of his next move. Percy was very much back to his normal, irritable state. “Well...” Oliver thought for a moment, deciding to go for it. He opened the drawer and pulled out the boxes he placed there last night. “I’m sorry I hid them, ye said ye were waiting a few more months-- I dinnae want ye to regret--”

“I don’t regret it,” Percy interrupted, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Let’s do it proper then,” Oliver grinned, approaching the bed. He didn’t mind. He could propose to Percy every single day of his life and it might never get old. He groaned as he got down on one knee trying to ignore how cold the wooden floorboard was beneath him. He stretched. He yawned. Then he looked up into those damned eyes. 

“Percy Weasley, yer the love of my life, will ye--”

“Yes,” Percy cut in. He immediately took his ring box to propose next. “Oliver, will you--”

Oliver mock scoffed, “Let me finish, yer as bad as yer sister.” The memory of Ginny launching herself into Potter’s arms before they were instructed was fresh in Oliver’s mind. Oliver shook his head, laughing. “Will ye marry me?”

“Yes,” Percy grinned. 

Now Oliver got the chance to slide his ring onto Percy. His heart thumped harder in his chest unable to stop the giddy laugh and loud whoop that came with the acceptance. He sat on the bed. Percy shifted around to get Oliver to sit behind him. The keeper followed his movement, resting his head on Percy’s shoulder.

“It might not be… medically advisable to try and kneel--” Percy began. 

“I ken ye would if ye were able,” Oliver reassured, kissing his cheek. He allowed Percy to take his hand. The healer rubbed Oliver’s ring finger up and down until he looked up at Oliver. 

“Oliver Wood, will you marry me?” 

Rather than speaking, Oliver kissed Percy on the lips. However, this was not satisfactory to his lover. “Ollie, I need a  _ verbal _ answer if we are doing this properly.”

“Aye, ye beautiful idiot, I love ye,” Oliver giggled, burying his face in Percy’s shoulder. His face was a rosy color. He felt like an idiot too utterly smitten with his stubborn fiance next to him. 

Despite healer’s orders, Oliver indulged a bit more in the kissing ignoring the morning breath that they both had. Who cared? They were in love. “No strenuous activity--”

“Yes Healer  _ Wood _ ,” Percy teased, nipping at Oliver’s neck before he pulled away. 

With that handled, Oliver waited for their peaceful moment to be ruined by nosy siblings. He supposed he was a part of the Weasley clan now as if he hadn’t been already. Oliver thought about the first time he looked up at Percy in the St. Mungo’s waiting room. The severe expression that was more of a rarity now that Oliver shared Percy’s bed. He sighed happily, running his hands through Percy’s hair and down his arms. 

“Ollie,” Percy murmured.

Oliver looked down at Percy who still held his left hand with his own. “Aye, love?” Oliver kissed Percy again. He couldn’t stop himself from admiring his slipping horn-rimmed glasses. It was all in the details. 

“This feels right,” Percy nodded. 

“That’s because it is right,” Oliver agreed. He rested a hand over Percy’s heart. Years of waiting slipped out of his mind, as he closed his eyes. Would it be odd to send Roger Davies a gift basket?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like that, it's finished. Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and appreciation for the two fics we wrote. Obviously this is the end of the story, but we have more in store. 
> 
> Keep an eye out in the next month or so for our next fic. I won't spoil anything, but we're excited to write it. If you loved this story, leave a comment or a kudos. We appreciate every reader and didn't think this would get any attention -- now look! I love you all and I can't wait to see what comes next.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> For any timeline related questions/general non-canonical info, this would take place in 2006. Percy Weasley ended up in the 1995 graduating class while Oliver Wood graduated in 1996. This liberty was taken so that they wouldn't have a reason to really interact. 
> 
> Since Voldemort does not exist in this universe, the Wizarding Wars did not happen. Percy chooses to become a healer instead of go into the Ministry. Oliver remains a Quidditch nut. Most of the canonical pairings remain the same. Though they aren't mentioned, the Potters are alive and all is well. 
> 
> If you have any other questions, feel free to drop them below! Stay tuned for more~


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